IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


V 


/. 


// 


y  «?. 


WJ- 


<? 


t^ 


fe" 


Wr 


i< 


i/i 


y. 


1.0 


I.I 


li^lliM   iiizi 


'  ilM    IIIII2.2 


1113^ 


12.0 


1.8 


1.25 

1.4 

1.6 

^ ^^i    _ 

► 

v^ 


<? 


/^ 


^h 


<?. 


e7. 


'<^. 


<?i 


W    '■> 


% 


o 


7 


///, 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(  716)  872-4503 


iV 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions 


Inutitut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


1980 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  m^thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


PC 

of 
fil 


cc 
or 


D 


D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


□    Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  peiliculde 


□    Cover  title  missing/ 
Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur6es  et/ou  pelliculdes 


D 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  ddcoiordes,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 

□    Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


Tl 
fil 
in 


M 
in 

b< 
fc 


□    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


D 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 


□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  in6gale  de  Timpression' 

□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


D 


D 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmdes. 


□    Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


n/ 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6X6  filmdes  6  nouveau  de  fagon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  p.->'jsible. 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires: 


m 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

SOX 

J 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


32X 


lils 

Ju 

difier 

me 

age 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche  shall 
contain  the  symbol  — ♦>  (meaning  CONTIPJUED"), 
or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"),  whichever 
applies. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  I'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la  der- 
nidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbole  —^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le  symbole 
V  signifie  "FIN". 


The  original  copy  was  borrowed  from,  and 
filmed  with,  the  kind  consent  o    the  following 
institution: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de  I'^tablissement  prdteur 
suivant  : 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Maps  or  plates  too  large  to  be  entirely  included 
in  one  exposure  are  filmed  beginning  in  the 
upper  Iflft  hand  corner,  left  to  right  and  top  to 
bottom,  as  many  frames  as  required.  The 
following  diagrams  illustrate  the  method: 


Les  cartes  ou  les  planches  trop  grandes  pour  dtre 
reproduites  en  un  seul  clichd  sont  filmdes  d 
partir  de  Tangle  sup^rieure  gauche,  de  gauche  d 
droite  et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Le  diagramme  suivant 
illustre  la  mdthode  : 


1 

2 

3 

rata 

0 


>elure. 


J 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

o 

'X. 

c 
e- 

cs 
y. 

c 

a 

p: 


o 

f 

E- 

m 


'A 
O 

t-i 


A     15  ()  ()  K 


\KW    I-NGLAVl)    f.KGENDS 


1  ULK.    l.t.>R  t 


Sa  pcrtsf  4n&  'j^dttrv 


f»V 


,*;-•  fH'.-.i  ■ 


-\  ^i   ■'■'     T  '(<;\  ^i' 


■..(.AS.     ■. ..  \ST'' 


.■  \.',    '.'  '"A',  J  /-^/^    f .  i    it      ;•     ;«.r-.i.-s',,  /><; 


Oi  p  B  K  H  i^     *l  ifiv  f >  T  H  K  R  S 


■*,> 


pr- 


r 


^ 


/ 


■tUv 


»;  ■ 


'^- 


.^jtM.lMJ^^r'? 


.«  ...'•■"•^fc^Vr" 


il>' 


'% 


''A  ---v-Ifc    ■... 


•.4 


#5: 


iS. 


■^ifiSfc^-^'" 


T-v>  \ 


'^im 


CiS 
P 


% 


'A 


i?fc..-:.fa^"&Miff7 ''-fni-i  - 


T 


A     BOOK 


OF 


New  England  Legends 


ANIJ 


Folk   Lore 


In  f  roise  anb  poetrti 


BY 


SAMUEL   ADAMS   DRAKE 

AUTHOR  OK  "  NOOKS  AND  CORNERS  OF  THE  NEW  HNGLAM)  COAST," 
"old  LANDMARKS  OF  UOSTON,''  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY  F.    T.  MERRILL 


BOSTON 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

1884 


P7^ 


14480:; 


Copyright,   JSS3, 
By  Samuel  Adams  Drake. 


Camfiriligf : 

PRINTED    BY    JOHN   WILSON   AND  SON, 
UNIVERSITY    I'KIiSS. 


i 
i 


TNTROnuCTION. 


rpi It  r  covery  „,  „,„„j,  ,,,tl,.vei  log™,I„ry  ,v„ift  that  not 

-L   o„lv  mvo  »  ,,,,lly  „„p„,ta„t  bearii,;.  „,,„„  the  early  l,i,st„ry 

■I  "".■  com,  ,y,  b„t  tl,„t  al,s„  .he,  „„eh  li,l,t  „,,„„  the  spirit  'r 

.t.  a„e,e„t  laws  and  „,,„„  tl,o  dc,n,estic  lives  ,.r  its  ,,e,n  1,.  !„„, 

seemed  to  me  a  la,„l„,,le  „„de,taki„,..     This  „„,,„»    i,      „   ^ 

taken  .„„„  ,„  the  following  collection  of  KewKniand  Lcen, 

As  „,  a  majority  „f  instance,  these  tales  go  ftr  beyond     'l 
|«  when  .he  interio,.  was  settled,  they  naturally  el  Z  h 
heseahonnl;  and  it  wonid  scarcely  h„  overstepping  th     W 
P»rut,n«  exaggeration  fn™  trnth  to  say  that  ILy  1     „ 
the  New-l..,.g|„nd  coast  has  its  story  „r  k  legend.         ^ 
Disowned   m   an  age   of  scepticism,  the,,  was  once  _  „„d 

I  .      what  we  now  v.agnely  tern,  the  legendary  did  not  ever- 

«    i,e  strongest  n.u.cnee  ;  so  that,  far  from  hein.-  ,nm  1  v   , 

or^  o    am„sn,g  fables,  these  fdes.  which  .are  largrivh,       ed 

fdrselose  the  sect  springs  by  which  societv- ,;,,  „„, 

J  f;-rtr°-         ■"  '"""^  '"■"''^"-  "'■">■  ■"«■'"'■"«"  ""■ 


VI 


INTKOnUCTION. 


It  iiiiiy  bo  said,  tliuii,  tliut  whilo  History  1ms  its  truth,  tlio 
Logt'ud  lius  its  own;  both  taking,'  lor  tlicir  I'lul  tin'  portniyul 
of  Man  an  he  has  ex'sted  in  every  age,  —  a  (.'reatiiru  in  whom 
the  imagination  is  suprenie,  and  who  pfrlornis  dcuda  tenibli' 
or  heruii;  aLcording  as  it  may  be  arousiid  into  action. 

No  apohjgy  need  be  made  i'or  the  prevalence  ul'  superstition 
among  our  ancestors.  Our  century  is  not  the  judge  of  its  predti- 
cessors.  It  was  a  superstitious  age.  King  Charles  1.  inherited 
all  the  popular  beliefs.  He  kept,  as  an  uttacho  of  his  court,  an 
astrologer,  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  c(jnsult  before  enter- 
ing upon  any  important  or  hazardous  undertaking.  Laud,  the 
highest  prelate  in  England,  the  implacal)le  i)ersecutor  of  our 
Puritan  ancestors,  was  a  man  haunted  by  the  i't;ar  of  omens. 
Indeed  the  most  exalted  pers(jnages  in  (Jhurch  and  State  yiehhid 
full  credenco  to  all  those  marvels,  the  bare  mention  of  which 
now  calls  up  a  smile  of  incretlulity  or  of  pity.  New  England 
was  the  child  of  a  superstitious  mother. 

Since  the  assertion  is  so  often  made  that  this  is  a  jjractical 
age,  owing  no  alhigiance  whatever  to  the  degrading  thraldom  of 
ancient  superstition,  but  coldly  rejecting  everything  that  cannot 
be  fully  accounted  for  upon  rational  grounds,  I  have  thought 
it  worth  while  to  cite  a  few  of  those  popular  beliefs  which 
neither  the  sceptical  tendencies  of  the  age  we  live  in,  nor  its 
wonder-working  achievements,  have  been  able  to  eradicate.  They 
belong  exclusively  to  no  class,  and  have  been  transmitted  from 
generation  to  generation  through  the  medium  of  an  unwritten 
language,  to  which  the  natural  impulse  of  the  human  mind 
toward  the  supernatural  is  the  common  interpreter.  While 
religion  itself  works  through  this  mysterious  channel  of  the 
Unknown  and  the  Unseen,  one  need  not  .stop  to  argue  a  fact 
that  has  such  high  sanction.  So  long  as  these  beliefs  shall 
continue  to  exert  a  control  over  the  every-day  actions  of  n)en, 
it  would  be  useless  to  deny  to  them  a  place  in  the  movements 
regulating  society  ;  and  so  long  as  the  twin  mysteries  of  life 
and  death  confront  us  with  their  unsolved  problems,  it  is 
certain  that  where  reason  cannot  pass  beyond,  the  imagination 


iNTitonrcTioN. 


vu 


will  still  strive  to  [K'tiotnilt!  witliiii,  the  harrier  si'iianitiii^'  us 
from  the  iiivisil)lo  world.  Thi.s  iiivisihle  worlil  is  the  realm  of 
the  suporiiiitural. 

Vdii  will  seldom  see  a  iiuui  so  iiiiieh  in  a  hurry  that  he  will 
not  stop  to  pick  up  ii  horseshoe.  One  sees  this  aiieient  (;harm 
a;,'ainst  evil  spirits  in  every  household.  In  fact  this  ]iiece  of 
bent  iron  has  hoconie  the  popular  syud)ol  fur  gooil  luck.  'I'hruw- 
iny  an  old  shoe  after  a  departing  friend  is  as  common  a  practice 
to-day  as  it  over  was.  Very  few  maidens  neglect  the  opportu- 
nity to  got  a  i»eep  at  the  new  moon  over  the  right  slu.ulder ; 
and   the   old  couplet,  — 

See  the  moon  through  the  glass, 
Vou  'U  liavc  trouMe  while  it  LiFsts  — 

is  still  extant.  I  know  people  who  could  not  !>(■  induced  to  sit 
with  thirteen  at  the  table,  who  consider  sj)illing  the  salt  as 
uiducky,  and  who  put  faith  in  dreams ! 

With  Oat  holies  the  belief  in  the  etiicacy  of  charms  and  of  relics 
is  a  part  of  their  religion.  It  is  not  long  since  a  person  adver- 
tised in  a  i)ublic  journal  for  a  caul ;  while  among  ignorant  people 
charms  against  sickness,  or  drowning,  or  evil  spirits  are  still  much 
worn.  Iiut  their  use  is  not  wholly  coidined  to  this  class;  for  I 
have  myself  known  intelligent  men  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
carrying  a  potato  in  their  pocket,  or  of  wearing  a  horse-chestnut 
suspended  from  the  neck,  as  a  cure  for  the  rheumatism. 

Sailors  retain  unimpaired  most  of  their  old  superstitions  con- 
cerning things  lucky  or  unlucky.  Farmers  are  invariably  a 
superstitious  folk,  —  at  least  in  those  places  where  they  have 
lived  from  generation  to  generation.  The  pn^tty  and  touching 
custom  of  telling  the  bees  of  a  death  in  the  famil}'  is,  as  I  have 
reason  to  know,  a  practice  still  adhered  to  in  some  parts  of  the 
country.  The  familiar  legend  of  the  hedgehog  remains  a  trusted 
indication  of  an  early  or  a  late  spring.  Farmers  have  many  super- 
stitions that  have  been  domesticated  among  them  for  centuries. 
For  instance,  it  is  a  common  belief  that  if  a  creature  loses  its 
cud  the  animal  will  die  unless  one  is  obtained  for  it  by  dividing 


f 


VI 11 


INTUODUCTION. 


tijo  cud  of  auotlitu-  bpu.st.  A  sick  cow  will  rocovor  by  liuviiij^  ii 
live  froj,'  pass  tlirouj^h  her ;  hut  tlio  fro;,'  must  ho  living,  or  tlio 
clianu  will  not  work.  II'  a  dog  is  seen  eating  grass,  it  is  a  sign 
of  wot  wcatlii-'r ;  so  it  is  it'  llio  grass  is  spotted  with  what  is  vul- 
garly called  frogs'  spittle.  'Dk!  girls  heliove  that  if  you  ean  form 
a  wish  while  a  meteor  is  falling,  t!ie  wish  will  he  fi. Hilled  ;  they 
will  not  phiek  the  eomimin  wd  lield-lily,  for  fear  it  will  make 
them  heconu!  freekled.  In  tin;  country  tliere  ate  still  found  persons 
plying  tile  trade  of  fortune-telling,  wliih;  tlu;  numher  of  hau.iited 
houses  is  notal)ly  inereasing.  The  "  lueky-hono  "  of  a  codhsh  ami 
tiie  "  wishing-bone  "  of  a  chicken  are  things  of  wide  reput(!. 

Plants  and  ilowers  —  those  beautiful  emblems  of  immortality 
—  have  from  iniUKiUiorial  time  possessed  their  pe(.'uliar  attributes 
or  virtues.  There  are  the  mystic  plants,  and  there  are  the 
symbolical  ones,  like  the  evergreens  used  in  church-deeoration 
and  in  comi^teries.  Where  is  the  maiden  who  has  not  diligently 
searched  up  and  down  the  lielils  for  the  bashful  fourdeaved 
clover]  How  ujany  books  enclose  within  their  leaves  this 
little  token  of  some  unspoken  wish  !  The  (jracle  of  the  Mar- 
guerite in  (Joetlie's  "Faust,"  — 

II  m'liime ; 

II  lu'aiine  beaucoup ; 

A  la  I'olie ; 

Pas  du  tout, — 

may  oftener  be  consulted  to-day  than  many  a  fair  questioner  of 
Fate  would  be  willing  to  admit.  Let  those  who  will,  say  that 
all  tiiis  is  less  than  nothing;  yet  I  much  doubt  if  the  saying 
will  bring  conviction  to  the  heart  of  womankind. 

Precious  stones  continue  to  hold  in  the  popular  mind  some- 
thing of  their  old  power  to  work  good  or  evil  to  the  wearer. 
A  dealer  in  gems  tells  me  that  the  sale  of  certain  stones  is  mate- 
rially affected  by  the  superstitions  concerning  them.  It  will 
be  seen  that  some  of  these  superstitious  attach  to  the  most  im- 
portant concerns  of  life.  My  friend  the  dealer,  who  is  quite 
as  well  versed  in  his  calling  as  Mr.  Isaacs  was,  says  that  the 


«  V   ' 


I 


INTRODUCTION. 


IX 


opiil  is  tilt!  gem  that  in  most  ricquiintly  spokoii  of  us  unlucky, 
and  tliut  the  salu  of  tho  opiil  of  lato  years  has  been  very  slow  on 
liiat  accdiint.  "  It  seems,"  he  eoutinues,  "as  if  many  ladies 
ri'ally  believed  that  it  would  bring  them  misfortune  to  wear  or 
even  to  own  an  opal ;  and  we  freijuently  hear  ladies  say  that 
they  would  n(jt  accept  one  as  a  gift."  Some  writers  attribute 
this  uiii)oi)ularity  to  Scott's  "Aniic  of  (ieierstein."  'Jiii.s,  at 
least,  is  a  nioilern  sui)er.stitiou ;  for  tho  opul  was  ouco  cousiden-d 
a  talisman  of  rare  virtue. 

An  old  jeweller  tells  me  that  ho  frequently  sells  a  moonstone 
as  a  "lucky stone."  It  is  of  little  pecuniary  value,  but  ho  says 
that  it  is  worn  in  rings  and  charms  as  bringing  good  luck.  'J'he 
moonstone  has  furnished  VVilkie  (Jollins  with  tho  themo  for 
cue  of  his   weird  tales. 

My  informant  goes  on  to  say  that  "a  line  turquoise  is  of  a 
beautiful  blue,  —  al)out  the  color  of  a  robin's  egg.     For  some 
reason  not  perfectly  understood  it  changes  from  blue  to  green, 
and  sometimes  to  white.     I  own  a  tunjuoise  myself,  which  1 
am  sure  changes  color,  sometimes  looking  green,  and  sometimes 
blue.     This  change  of  color  gave  rise  to   the  belief   that   tho 
color  of  a  tunpioise  varied  with  the  health  of  tlio  wearer,  being 
blue  when  the  wearer  was  in  good  health,  and  white  or  green 
in  case  of  ill-health.     The  emerald  is  said  to  be  the  symbol  of 
jeakiusy,  — '  the  green-eyed  nKJUster.'      For  this  reason  it  is  not 
considered  as  being  suitable  for  an  engagement-ring.      I   don't 
know  that  I  c'ver  heard  of  one  being  offered  as  an  engagement- 
gift  ;  and  if  a  young  gentleman  should  ask  my  advice  in  regard 
to  buying  an  emerald  ring  for  this  purpose,  I  shoidd  dissuade 
him,  on  the  ground  that  the  young  lady  might  look  upon  it  as 
a  bad  omen."     This  feeling  or  superstition  is  used  in   Black's 
story  of  "  The    Three   Feathers,"  in    which   a  marriage  is  pre- 
vented by  the  gift  of  an  emerald  ring;  "for,"  says  tho  novelist, 
"  how  could  any  two  people  marry  who  had  engaged  themselves 
with  an  emerald   ring?"     A  sapphire,   on  the   contrary,  given 
by  another  admirer,  brings  matters  to  a  hapjjy  conclusion ;  once 
more  fullilling  the  i)rophecy  of  an  old  rhyme,  — 


INTJiODUCTION. 


Oh,  green's  Ibrsakeii, 

And  yellow '«  f'orswnrn, 
Antl  blue  's  the  sweete.st 

Color  that 's  worn  ! 

There  certainly  is  a  diU'erence  in  the  way  that  all  those  be- 
liefs are  received,  —  some  people  snbsoribiug  to  tlieni  fully  and 
frankly,  while  others,  who  do  not  like  to  be  laughed  at  by 
their  scei)tical  neighbors,  speaking  of  tlieui  as  trifles.  IJut  such 
doubters  may  l)e  hotter  judged  hy  their  acts  than  by  their  pro- 
fessions, —  at  least  so  long  as  they  are  willing  to  try  the  potency 
of  this  or  that  cliarm,  "just  to  see  how  it  will  come  out." 

To  return  to  the  legendary  pieces  that  compose  this  volume, 
it  is  proper  to  state  that  only  certain  poetic  versions  liave  hither- 
to been  accessible  to  the  public,  and  that  consequently  impres- 
sions havo  been  formed  that  these  versions  were  good  and  valid 
narratives ;  while  the  fact  is  that  the  poems  are  not  so  much 
designed  to  teach  history  or  its  truth,  as  to  illustrate  its  spirit 
in  an  effective  and  picturesque  manner.  Yet  in  most  cases  they 
do  deal  Avith  real  personages  and  events,  and  they  stand  for 
faithful  relations. 

It  was  this  fact  that  first  gave  me  the  idea  of  bringing  the 
prose  and  poetic  versions  together,  in  order  that  those  interested, 
more  especially  teachers,  might  have  as  ready  access  to  the  truth, 
as  hitherto  they  have  had  to  the  romance,  of  history. 

For  enabling  me  to  carry  out  this  idea  my  thanks  are  espe- 
cially due  to  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  who  promptly 
granted  me  their  jjermission  to  use  the  several  extracts  taken 
from  the  poems  of  Longfellow,  "Whittier,  and  Holmes;  and 
I  beg  all  those  literary  friends  who  have  extended  the  like 
courtesy  to  accept  the  like  acknowledgment. 

S.  A.  D. 
Melrose,  Mass.,  Oct.  1883. 


Part  JFfrst. 
BOSTON  LEGENDS. 


The  Solitary  otfihawmnt.— J.  L.Mot/r,/.    .    .     .  ''*°^ 

Boston  Common.  —  0.   W.  Holmes     . '^ 

Mistress  Anne  Hutchinson '     " '^ 

The  Death  of  Raiusborougli      ....         ^ ' 

The  Case  of  Mistress  Ann  Hibbius "^ 

Mary  Dyer -^ 

The  King's  Missive ^^ 

The  Qualver  Prophetess ^^ 

In  the  Old  South  Church. -./.'air/uW.i-    "    "     "     ' f 

More  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World  

CalefinBoston.— X  a  IFtoiVr.         ^^ 

Nix's  Mate ^^ 

The  Duel  on  the  Common     .    .     .    .    , ^^ 

Due  d'Anville's  Descent ^^ 

.V  Ballad  ofthe  French  Fleet. -^.ir.'Ao^.^"/-,//,,,;     '.    .    \    \    ',    \  l\ 


XU  CONTENTS. 

Christ  Clmn-h.  —  Kilirin  B.  Russell '"77 

I'aul  Keveie's  Ivitlc -^ 

I'etcr  Ihigg.  —  William  Auntiii       y,, 

A  lM<riiiuloi  the  Old  Elm.  — i'sauc  McLellan,Jr 105 

Ho.\l)ury  riuliliug-Stoiiu j  j  j 

Thu  Dorchester  Uiaut. —  U.'W.  llulmes m 


Part  S>ttaxCii. 
CAMBRIDGE  LEGENDS. 

The  Washington  Elm jl5 

'I'hc  Last  of  tlie  Highwaymen ny 

The  Eliot  Oak I2i 

Part  2C^irU. 

LYNN  AND  NAHANT  LEGENDS. 

The  Bridal  of  Peniiacook 128 

Tiie  Pirate's  Glen j3o 

Moll  ritc'lier 137 

lUghUofk.  — Elizabeth  F.  Merrill 141 

Xaliant l^g 

Tlie  Sea-Serpent 15(j 

The  Floure  of  Souvenance I59 

Swampscott  Beach 162 


Part  Jourtfj. 
SALEM  LEGENDS. 

f^'ilem 167 

The  Escape  of  Philip  Englisli 176 

Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross IgO 

Cassandra  Sonthwick 183 

The  Witchcraft  Tragedy !     .  188 

Giles  Corey  the  Wizard I94 

The  Bell  Tavern  Mystery 196 


CONTENTS. 


XIU 


^art  iFiftfj. 

MARBLEIIEAD  LEGENDS. 

^larliJchoarl  :  Tlio  Town  .  .  '"•^'^'^ 

The  Sliriekiug  Woiuau     .     .     ' ^"•"' 

The  Strange  Adventures  of  Philip  Ashton "" 

Agiiew,  the  .Maiil  of  the  Ian  .     .     .  "'- 

Skipper  Ireson's  Kide  .     . --' 

Al'leaforrioodIre.son.-r/,«,/e.  y.iiroo/'-    ."    .'     ■.".■■■■  JJ.' 


Part  &ixt^. 

CAPE-ANN  LEGENDS. 

r'apo  Ann 

( 'aptain  John  Smith 

Thaclier's  Island 

Anthony  Thaeher's  Shi])wreck  .    .     ' 

The  Swan  Song  of  Parson  Avery.— ./.V/.      '     '     " 
Tlie  Spectre  Leaguers  .     .     .     . ' 

The  Garrison  of  Cape  Ann.-./.  G.  \v/aft'i,r 

Old  Meg,  the  Witdi 

An  Escape  from  Pirates 
Norman's  Woe 

Hannah  binding  Shoes. -/.,;.// V.r'ovo,;/ 


Whither 


2.37 

24.'t 

244 

24.5 

2.52 

25.'} 

2r)8 

2.59 

261 

2()3 

267 


?fart  ^EbfUtfj. 

IPSWICH  AND  NEWBURY   LEGENDS. 

Ipswich 

Ohl  Ipswich  Town.  _vl/,^/,M«'l/on;a« fJ- 

Heartl)reak  Hill '  -'_' 

Newl)urvport ^''^ 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter "^"^ 

The  Old  Elm'of  Newhurv     .         \ ^'''^ 

The  Prophecy  of  Samuci  Se^vaU ^^^ 

The  Double-Headed  Snake 

1  homas  Macv,  the  Exile  ^'^^ 

Telling  the  Bees  .     .  ^^^ 

314 


XIV 


CONTENTS. 


Part  lEigljtf). 
HAMrTON   AND  PORTSMOUTH  LEGENDS. 

PA(JK 

lliiinptoii ,'J1'.» 

.'()iiiitli:iii  Moultoii  and  tlie  Devil 322 

(."ooily  <'(il(' 328 

The  Wri'ck  i)f   liivcnnmitli.— ./.  (J.   Whiltlrr 32!) 

I'ort.imoutli 331 

TIic,  Stoiio-tlirowiiig  Devil 333 

Jiiuly  Weiitworth 337 


Part  Nintfj. 

YORK,    ISLES-OF-SIIOALS,   AND   B00\" -ISLAND 
LEGENDS. 

Isles  i)f  Shoiils 345 

On  St.ir  Islauil.  —  Sarah  O.  Jcwitt 348 

A  Legend  of  Blackboard 3r)() 

The  Spanisli  Wreik 352 

Tiie  >Sj)auiards'  (Jravos.  —  C'plia  Thaxter 354 

Boon  Island 355 

The  Watch  of  Boon  Islan<l.  —  Ce.lia  Thaxter 356 

Tlio  (irave  of  Chanipernowne 357 

Againenticus  (York,  Maine) 358 

Monnt  Aganienticns 359 

Saint  AspeiKjuid.  —  John  Albee 360 


Part  STcntlj. 

OLD-COLONY  LEGENDS. 

Hanging  by  Proxy 365 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket.  —  Samuel  Woodworth 370 

Destruction  of  Mii.ot's  Light 375 

Minot's  Ledge.  —  Fitz-James  O'Brien 377 

Legends  of  Plymouth  Hock 373 

Mary  Chilton.  —  (leorge  Bancroft  (Griffith 380 

The  Courtship  of  Myles  Standish 383 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers.  —  Perciral,  Pierpont,  Ilemans,  Sprague  ...  389 


CONTENTS. 


XV 


RHODE-lSLAiND   LEGENDS. 

PAGE 

The  Skclotou  in  Armur ;jy;j 

The  \e\v|i()rt  TowiT.  —  J .  (1.  Bniiiiunl,  L.  li.  Si(]'iuiney     .     .     ,     .  401 

151ock  Isliiucl 40a 

Tlie  Buccaueer 409 

The  I'alatiiie.— ,/.  G.   W/iittirr 413 

Tlie  Lust  of  tliu  W'auipuuuags 414 

Part  grtoelftfj. 
CONNECTICUT  LEGENDS. 

The  riiantom  Sliip 41 7 

The  Cliai'ler  Oak 401 

Tlie  Cliurter  Oak  (^>oe/«). — L.  II.  SirjouriKi/ 426 

Tlie  Place  of  Noises 407 

.Mateliit  Mooiius.  —  J.  (/.  BniiiKinl 429 

Tlie  ISjiaiiish  (ialleon 43j 

The  Money-Diggers. — J .  G.  Bruinard 435 

Tlie  Norwieli  Kliiis.  —  L.  II.  Sujonnwy 435 

Part  9rf)irte;nt1^. 

NANTUCKET  AND  OTHER  LEGENDS. 

Nantucket  Legends 441 

Tlie  Alarnieil  Skipper.— Jamts  y.    Field.t 447 

'I'lie  Unknown  Clianipiou 449 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


VJ 
2fi 

■2H 

;j2 


PAGE 

Kol)iiis()ii,  Stovpnsnn,  and  Mary 
^  I  >ytTg.,iii-  to  |;xi.ciiti„ii,  rroiit apiece 
Vigiii'tte,  riiritau  Hats      ...        3 
The  Solitary  of  Sliawimit ...        0 

Haiigiiig-Lainp n 

.Situ  (if  Mrs.  lliit<.'liiiiMiirs  Mouse       15 
Trial  of  Mrs.  Hiitcliiiisoii  . 
Tlu;  Death  of  IJainshorougli 
Nijjht-Watchniaii      .     .     . 
KxccutioM  of  Mrs.  Uibbiiis 

The  ( )l(l  llhn ;j4 

Scourging  a  Quaker      ....      ,37 

I  land-Reel 4^ 

Kndiiott    receiving    the    King's 
Order 4|ij 

Liberty  Tree 

Ancient  Houses,  North  Knd  . 

<'andlesticlv,    Bible,    and    Spec, 
tacles 

Tomb  of  the  .^fathers     .... 

Xix'.^Mate 

The  Due!  on  the  Common       .     . 

Old  South  Church 

<  'hrist  Church 

Hoston,  from  Breed's  Hill 

Sign  of  the  Green  Dragon       .     . 

<irenadier,  1775 g.j 

Revere  arousing  the  Minute-Man      86 

Peter   Rugg  and  the  Thunder- 

•Storni ()2 

Equestrians g  i 

Hackney-Coach 95 

Market-Woman joo 


50 
58 

(12 

04 

60 

70 

71 

77 

80 

81 


Boston  Truck 

Chaise,  1770 

The  Money-Digger 

Old  Milestone,  Dorchester      .     . 

Old  Fire-Dogs 

Vignette,  Wine  and  Hour  (ilasses 
I  The  Washington  Kim  .... 
[  The  Kliot  Oak,  lirighton  .  .  . 
j  Milestone,  Cambridge  .... 
!    Vignette,  Symbols  of  Witchcraft 

)    An  Indian  I'rincess 

'    Moll  Pitcher [     [ 

Moll  Pitcher's  C(;ttage  .... 
Kgg  Rock  and  the  Sea-Serpcnt  . 

I'orget-me-nots 

A  Sp.ing  Carol 

Vignette,  The  Witches'  Ride  . 
Philip  English's  House,  Salem  . 
Cutting  out  the  Cross    .... 

Soldier  of  10-30 

Condemned  to  be  sold  .... 
The  Parsonage,  Salem  Village  . 
Staffs  Hsed  by  Jacobs  when 
gin'ng  to  Execution  .... 
The  Bell   from  an  Old  Print  .     . 

Tailpiece 

Endicott's     Sun-Dial;     Designs 

from  Old  Money 205 

Low's  Pirate  Flag 212 

Alone  on  the  Desert  Island    .     .     217 

Love  at  First  Sight 222 

Skipper  Ireson's  Ride  ....     229 
Tailpiece 23.3 


P.\QK 

10.3 

107 

109 

111 

112 

115 

110 

122 

124 

127 

129 

138 

14.3 

1.57 

159 

104 

107 

177 

181 

182 

184 

191 

192 
199 
201 


xvin 


LIST   OV   ILLUSTUATIONH. 


ViKiiette,  I'ewter  Dishes    .     .     . 

'I'lic  MiiK'""'''* 

The  Shipwreck 

A  Sortie  u|ioii  till!  Duinoiis      .     . 
Nonnaii's  Woe  liucli     .     .     .     • 

Tool-  lone  IIiuiiiulj 

TttilpiwT,  Hats 

Vipiftto,  Tlie  Cabalistic  Nine    . 
Padlock  and  Key,  Ipswich  Jail  . 

Ipswich  Heads 

Men  of  Mark 

The  Maiden's  Watch    .... 

Ueucon,  Salisbury  Point    .     .     . 

Whitelield's  Monument     .     •     • 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter's  Mansion 

Warniint;-l'an 

Lord  Timothy  De.xter  .... 

The  Old  Khn  of  Newbury      .     . 

Ye  Double-Headed  Snake       .     . 

Escape  of  Goodman  Macy      .     . 

Beehive 

Tailpiece! 

Vif,niette,  Bats 

Hoar's  Head 

■Jonathan  Moulton  and  ye  Devil 

"  I  shall  ride  in  my  Chariot  yet, 
Ma'am!" 

Tailpiece,  Umbrella 

Captain  Teach,  or  Hlackbeard    . 


I'AOK 
•2:17 

21)7 
24U 
'2r.6 
'2(U 
208 
2f;!l 
27:1 
27.-) 
278 
280 
281 
285 
2!)0 
2!);i 
2!J8 
299 
302 
308 
312 
31.5 
,  31(5 
,  319 
.  319 
323 


340 
342 
351 


Vif^'nette,  Maytiowers  .... 
The  Old  Oaken  Huckel  .  .  . 
The  I'irst  Minot's  Lighthouse  . 
Mary  Chilton's  Leap  .... 
Ancient  (iravestotic.  Hurial  Hill 
Monument      over      Forefathers' 

Hock,  Plymouth 

Standish  House,  Duxbury     .     . 

"  I'rithce,  John,  why  don't  you 

speak  for  yourself  V"     .     .     • 

Tailpiece, Candlestick,  Hible,  and 

Speetai'les 

Helmets,  Puritan  Time  .  .  . 
Old  Windmill,  Newport  .  .  • 
The  Skeleton,  \rmor  .  .  . 
Ancient  Windmill  .  .  .  •  • 
Lee  on  the  Spectre  Horse.  .  .  . 
Vii,'nette,  Hairdresser's  Shop 

The  Phantom  Ship 

The  Charter  Oak 

Old  Warehouses,  New  London  . 
Ancient  Mill,  New  London  .  . 
Vignette,  tjur.ker  Heads  .  .  • 
Bass  Rocks,  Gay  Head,  Cutty- 
hunk   

Goffe  rallying  the  Settlers      .     . 
Graves  of   the  Regicides,  New 

Haven 

Tailpiece,  Blacksmith's  Arms     . 


PAUK 

•.mr> 

372 

375 

37!) 
381 


382 
:;84 


387 

390 

393 

394 

397 

405 

411 

417 

419 

423 

432 

433 

441 

442 

453 

4r)(» 
457 


■'~4 


,# 


Part  first. 


BOSTOx>T     LEGENDS. 


■& 


W 
I  i 


TTIE   SOLITARY   OF   SIIAWMUT. 

ItV  ,1.   I..    MOTM'.Y. 
1628. 


ASOLTTAIi'V  fij,'un'  siit  »ii)()n  tlic  summit  nf  Shawmut. 
lie  was  a  man  of  almut  thirty  years  of  a.i^c,  sdiin^wliat 
ubdVc  till'  middli  liL'iylit,  .slender  in  luiiu,  Avilli  a  pale,  tliDU.'ulit- 
ful  i'ac(,'.  lie  \v(uv  a  cunfu.sed  dark-culorcil,  ludl'-eanonieal  dress, 
with  a  L^ray  lirdad-leaveil  hat  stiiin;;-  with  shells,  iil<c  an  ancient 
])alnier's,  and  slunelicil  liaek  IVdin  his  jiensive  hrnw,  aiouml 
wliieh  his  incnialurely  i^ray  hair  I'rlj  in  heavy  curls  far  down 
upon  his  neck.  He  had  a  wallet  at  his  side,  a  hammer  in  his 
girdle,  and  a  long  staff  in  his  hand.  The  hermit  i>(  Shawmiit 
looked  out  upon  a  scene  of  winning  heauty.  The  promontory 
rGseml)led  rather  two  islamls  than  a  peninsula,  although  it  wa.s 
anchored  to  the  continent  hy  a  long  slender  thread  of  land 
M'hich  i^eemed  hardly  to  restrain  it  from  floating  out  to  join  its 
sister  islands,  which  were  thickly  strewn  about  the  bay.  The 
peak  upon  which  the  hermit  .sat  Avas  the  highest  of  the  three 
cliffs  of  the  peninsula;  upon  the  somheast,  and  A'ery  near  him, 
rose  another  hill  of  le.sser  height  and  )!iore  rounded  form  ;  and 
npon  the  other  side,  and  toward  the  north,  a  third  craggy  peak 
jiresented  its  hold  and  elevated  front  to  the  ocean.  Thu  ^  the 
Avholo  peninsula  was  made  up  of  three  lofty  crags.     It  was  from 


w 


NEW-KNULANI)   LK»;ENI)«. 


litis  triplij  cont'nriiKitiiMi  ul'thi'  ])i'(iiniiiitiiry  ol' Shtiwinut  tlial  wud 
(liM-ivud  tilt!  iippi'lhitiDii  til'  TriuitjuiiUiii,  ur  Truiuuiil,  whiuli  it 
Mtinii  iil'tuiwurtlH  rt(Cfivt,'il. 

Tilt-  viiHt  conii'iil  hIuhIdwh  woro  pi'DJcctoil  eiiMtwardly,  u«  tli»! 
In'i'iiiil,  willi  iiis  liiit'k  to  thu  ilucliiiin^  uuUf  Itjokuil  tml  u|ii)ii  ihtt 

Sl'il. 

'I'ho  buy  was  spreatl  out  at  hi.s  I'cet  in  a  l)rt)ail  stiiuicircli:,  with 
its  Dxtromo  huaiUautls  vani.sliiii;^  in  this  hnzy  diata. ;■•••,  whiln 
lu'yuntl  rnllt'il  thi)  viwt  expanse  of  ocean,  with  nt)  spot  uf  huhi- 
tabltt  earth  lieyoiul  those  tjutttrniost  harritii's  ami  that  far  ilistant 
fathtrland  which  the  t-xih^  had  left  furfVi-r.  Not  a  solitary  sail 
whiteni'il  Ihosis  purple  wavfs,  ami  saving'  tht)  wing  of  tht;  sea- 
gull, which  now  and  then  Hashetl  in  thtt  siinshine  or  glfametl 
across  the  tlininess  of  the  eastern  horizon,  the  solitude  was  at  the 
luoiuent  unhrokt'n  l)y  a  single  niovomeiit  of  animateil  nature. 
An  intense  antl  breathless  siltnn^o  enwrappetl  the  scene  with  a 
vast  ami  mystic  veil.  The  bay  presfntinl  a  spectacle  of  great 
bt'auty.  It  was  nut  that  the  outlines  of  the  enast  art)und  it  wero 
broken  Mitn  those  jaggtitl  antl  eloutllike  masses, —  that  pietu- 
restjue  and  ':tartling  scenery  where  precipitous  crag,  infinite 
abyss,  and  roaring  surge  unite  to  awaken  stern  and  sub"  .e 
emotions  ;  on  the  contrary,  thi!  gentle  loveliness  of  this  trans- 
atlantic scene  inspired  a  soothing  melancholy  mcjre  congenial  to 
the  contemplative'  chaiacti^r  of  its  solitary  occupant.  The  l)uy, 
soclutleil  within  its  forest- crowned  hills,  tlticoratctl  with  its  neck- 
lace of  emerald  islanils,  with  its  dark-blue  waters  gildetl  with 
the  rays  t)f  the  western  sun,  ami  its  shadowy  forests  of  unknown 
antitjuity  i^xpanding  into  infinite  depths  around,  was  an  imago 
of  fresh  and  virgin  beauty,  a  fitting  tyjjc  of  a  new  world  un- 
adorned by  art,  unploughed  by  industry,  unscathed  by  war, 
wearing  none  of  the  thousand  priceless  jewels  of  civilization, 
and  unpolluted  by  its  thou.saud  crimes,  —  springing,  as  it  wero, 
from  the  bosom  of  the  ocean,  cool,  dripping,  sparkling,  and 
fresh  from  the  hand  of  its  Create:. 

On  the  left,  as  the  pilgrim  sat  with  his  face  to  the  east,  the 
outlines  of  the  coast  were  comparatively  low,  but  broken  into 


THK   80LITAKY   OK   HIIAWMIT. 


^ontlo  and  plcusing  forms.  Ininu'tliatcly  iit  liis  fi'ct  lay  iv  largc-r 
islaml,  ill  extent  nearly  e<[iial  to  the  peninsula  nl'  Sliuwniut, 
covered  with  mighty  fon'st-trei's,  and  at  that  day  untenanted 
liy  a  liuniati  heiiij,',  although  hut  a  short  time  afterwards  it 
hecamo  tho  residence  of  a  distinguished  pioneer.  Outside  this 
bulwark  a  chain  of  thickly  N.uodeil  isleta  stretched  across  from 
Hhore  to  sliore,  with  hut  one  or  two  narrow  channels  hetweeii, 
presenting  a  piitures(|Ue  and  etlectual  harrier  to  the  hoisteroiis 
storms  of  ocean.  They  seemed  like  naiads,  those  islets  lifting 
above  the  billows  their  gentle  heaths,  crowned  with  the  budding 
garlands  of  the  spring,  and  circling  hand  in  hand,  like  protective 
deities,  about  the  scene. 

On  the  south,  beyond  the  narrow  tongue  of  land  which  bouml 
the  peninsula  to  the  main,  and  which  was  so  slender  that  the 
spray  from  the  eastern  side  was  often  dashed  across  it  into  the 
calmer  cove  of  the  west,  rose  in  the  immediate  distance  that 
long,  boldly  broken  purple-colored  ri<lge  called  the  Ma.ssachu- 
setts,  or  Mount  Arrow  Head,  by  the  natives,  and  ])y  the  tlrst 
English  discoverer  baptized  the  Cheviot  lli'ls.  On  their  left, 
and  within  the  deep  curve  of  the  coast,  were  tlx;  slightly  ele- 
vated heights  of  Passanogessit,  or  ^Ferry  Mount,  uml  on  their 
right  stretched  the  broad  forest,  hill  beyond  hill,  away.  Towards 
the  west  and  northwest,  the  eye  wandered  over  a  vast  undu- 
lating panorama  of  gtuitly  rolling  heights,  upon  whose  suniniits 
the  gigantic  pine-forests,  with  their  towering  tops  piercing  the 
clouds,  were  darklj'^  shadowed  upon  the  western  sky,  while  in 
the  dim  distance,  far  above  and  beyond  the  whole,  visible  only 
through  a  cloudless  atmosphere,  rose  the  airy  summits  of  the 
Wachusett,  Watatick,  and  Monadnock  Mountains.  Upon  the 
inland  side,  at  the  liasc  of  the  hill,  the  (j*uinobequin  Kiver, 
which  Smith  had  already  christened  with  the  royal  name  of 
his  unhai^py  patron,  Charles,  might  be  seen  writhing  in  its 
slow  and  tortuous  course,  like  a  wounded  serpent,  till  it  lost 
itself  in  the  blue  and  beautiful  cove  which  s[)read  around  the 
whole  western  edge  of  the  jjcninsul  and  within  the  same 
basin,  directly  opposite  the  northern  peai\  of  Shawmut,  advanced 


fr- 


■■I 


NEW-ENCiLANI)   LEGENDS. 


the  bold  and  fraggy  pMniioiitory  of  Mi-sliawum,  Avliore  Walford, 
tlie  solitary  siuitli,  had  Iniill  his  thatched  and  palisaded  house. 
The  blue  thread  of  the  Uiver  Mystic,  which  here  iiiiiiylod  its 


THE   SOLITARY    OF   SlIAWMUT. 

waters  with  the  Charles,  gleamed  for  a  moment  beyond  the 
heights  of  jNIisliawum,  and  then  vanished  into  the  frowning 
forest. 

Such  was  the  scene,  upon  a  })right  afternoon  of  spring,  which 
spread  before  the  eyes  of  the  solitary,  William  JUaxton,  the 


i     I 


Tin;    .SOLITARY    OF   SHAWM UT. 


hermit  of  Shawmut.  It  was  a  simjilc  hut  siil»liiiii>  image,  that 
gnntlo  exih'  in  hi.s  silvan  soHtudc.  It  was  a  siniph'  hut  suh- 
limi'  tliDUglit,  which  placed  him  and  sustained  him  in  his  lone 
retreat.  In  all  ages  there  seem  to  exist  men  who  have  no 
•  Mointed  place  in  the  world.  They  are  l)et(in'  their  age  in 
their  aspirations,  above  it  in  their  contemplation,  but  behind 
it  in  their  capacity  for  action.  Keen  to  detei;t  the  follies  and 
the  inconsistencies  which  surround  them,  shrinking  from  the 
contact  and  the  friction  of  the  rough  and  l)oi.sterous  world 
without,  and  building  within  the  .solitude  of  their  meditatioiis 
the  airy  fabric  of  a  regenerated  and  puritied  existence,  they  pass 
their  nights  in  unproductive  study,  and  their  days  in  dreams. 
With  intelligence  bright  and  copious  enough  to  illuminate  and 
to  warm  the  chill  atmosphere  of  the  surrounding  world,  if  the 
scattered  rays  Avere  concentrated,  but  with  an  inability  or  dis- 
inclination to  impress  themselves  upon  other  minds,  they  i)ass 
their  lives  without  obtaijiing  a  result,  and  their  characters, 
dwarfed  l)y  their  distance  from  the  actual  universe,  ac(juire  an 
apparent  indistinctness  and  feeljleuess  which  in  reality  does  not 
belong  to  them. 

The  impending  revolution  in  Church  and  State  which  hung 
like  a  gathering  thunder-cloud  above  England's  devoted  head, 
was  exciting  to  the  stronger  spirits,  whether  of  mischief  or  of 
virtue,  who  rejoiced  to  mingle  in  the  elemental  war  and  to 
plunge  into  the  rolling  surge  of  the  world's  events ;  ■while  to 
tlie  timid,  t^'e  hesitating,  and  the  languid,  it  rose  like  a  dark 
and  threatening  phantom,  scaring  them  into  solituile,  or  urging 
them  to  seek  repose  and  safety  in  oljscurity.  Thus  there  may 
be  men  whose  spirits  are  in  advance  of  their  age,  while  still  the 
current  of  the  world  Hows  rapidly  past  them. 

Of  such  men,  and  of  su(di  instincts,  was  the  solitary  who 
sat  on  the  clills  of  8hawnmt.  Forswearing  the  country  of 
his  birth  and  early  manhood,  where  there  seemed,  in  the 
present  .state  of  her  affairs,  no  possibility  that  minds  like  his 
could  develop  or  sustain  themselves,  —  dropping,  as  it  were, 
like   a  premature  and  unripened  fruit  from  the  bough  where 


8 


NEW-ENOLANI)    LEGENDS. 


its  blossoms  had  first  luifoldcil,  —  lie  hud  wandered  into  vol- 
untary exile  witli  hardly  a  reyret.  Debarred  from  ministering 
tit  the  altar  to  which  he  had  consecrated  his  youth,  because 
unable  to  comply  willi  munnucry  at  which  his  soul  revolted, 
lie  had  becdiuc  a  high  priest  of  nature,  and  had  reared  a  ])ure 
and  solitary  altar  in  the  wilderness.  Ho  hail  dwelt  in  this 
solitude  for  three  or  four  years,  and  had  found  in  the  con- 
templation of  nature,  in  the  liberty  of  conscience,  in  solitary 
study  and  self-communing,  a  solace  for  the  ills  he  had  suffered, 
and  a  recompense  for  the  world  he  had  turned  his  back  upon 
forever. 

His  spirit  Avas  a  prophetic  spirit,  and  his  virtues  belonged  not 
to  his  times.  In  an  age  which  regarded  toleration  as  a  crime, 
he  had  the  courage  to  cultivate  it  as  a  virtue.  Tn  an  age  in 
which  liberty  of  conscience  was  c<nisidered  fearful  licentious- 
ness, he  left  his  fatherland  to  obtain  it,  and  was  as  ready  to 
rebuke  the  intolerant  tyranny  of  the  nonco".iforniist  of  the  wil- 
derness, as  he  had  been  to  resist  the  bigotry  and  persecution 
of  the  prelacy  at  home.  In  short,  the  soul  of  the  gentle  her- 
mit flew  ui)on  pure  white  wings  before  its  age,  lint  it  flew, 
like  the  dove,  to  the  wilderness.  Wanting  both  power  and 
iiudination  to  act  upon  others,  he  became  not  a  reformer,  but 
a  recluse.  Having  enjoyed  and  improved  a  classical  education 
at  the  University  of  Cambridge,  he  was  a  thorough  and  an 
elegant  scholar.  He  was  likewise  a  profound  observer,  and  a 
student  of  nature  in  all  her  external  miuiifestations,  and  loved 
to  theorize  and  to  dream  in  the  various  walks  of  science.  The 
botanical  and  mineralogical  wonders  of  the  Xew  World  were 
to  him  the  objects  of  unceasing  speculation,  and  he  loved  to 
proceed  from  the  known  to  the  unknown,  and  to  weave  line 
chains  of  thought,  which  to  his  soaring  fancy  served  to  bind 
the  actual  to  the  unseen  and  the  spiritual,  and  upon  Avhich, 
as  upon  the  celestial  ladder  in  the  patriarch's  vision,  he  could 
dream  that  the  angels  of  the  Lord  were  descending  to  earth 
from  heaven. 

The  day  was  fast  declining  as  the  solitary  still  sat  upon  the 


THE   SOLITARY   OF    SII.VWMUT. 


9 


peak  and  ruused.  He  arose  as  tlio  sun--\vas  sinking  below  the 
forest-crowned  liills  whieli  girt  liis  silvan  hermitage,  and  gazed 
steadfastly  towards  the  west. 

"Another  day,"  he  said,  "hath  shone  upon  my  lonely  path ; 
another  day  hath  joined  the  buried  ages  whieli  have  folded  their 
wings  beneath  yon  glowing  west,  leaving  in  their  noiseless  tlight 
across  this  virgin  world  no  trace  nor  relic  of  their  ])assage.  'Tis 
strange,  't  is  fearful,  this  eternal  and  unbroken  silence.  Upon 
what  fitful  and  checkered  scenes  hath  yonder  sun  lookt.'d  down 
in  ot.ier  lands,  even  in  the  course  of  this  single  day's  career! 
Events  as  thickly  studded  as  the  stars  of  heaven  have  clustered 
and  shone  forth  beneath  his  rays,  even  as  his  glowing  chariot- 
wheels  performed  their  daily  course  ;  and  here,  in  this  mysterious 
and  speechless  world,  as  if  a  spell  of  enchantment  lay  upon  it, 
the  silence  is  unbroken,  the  whole  face  of  nature  still  de\vy  and 
fresh.  The  stop  of  civilization  hath  not  adorned  nor  polluted  the 
surface  of  this  wilderness.  No  stately  temples  gleam  in  yonder 
valleys,  no  storied  j.ioTniment  nor  aspiring  shaft  pierces  vomler 
floating  clouds ;  no  nnght;y  cities,  swarming  with  life,  filled  to 
bursting  with  the  ten  thousand  attendants  of  civilized  humanity, 
luxury  and  want,  pampered  sloth,  struggling  industrj^  disease, 
crime,  riot,  pestilence,  death,  all  hotly  pent  within  their  nanow 
precincts,  encumber  yon  sweeping  i)lains  ;  no  peaceful  villages, 
clinging  to  ancient,  ivy-mantled  churches ;  no  teeming  fields, 
spreading  their  vast  and  nourishing  bosoms  to  the  toiling  thou- 
sands, meet  this  wandering  gaze.  No  cheerful  chime  of  vesper- 
bell,  no  peaceful  low  of  the  returning  kine,  no  watch-dog's  bark, 
no  merry  shout  of  children's  innocent  voices,  no  floating  music 
from  the  shepherd's  pipe,  no  old  familiar  sounds  of  humanity, 
break  on  this  listening  ear.  No  snowy  sail  shines  on  yon  eternal 
ocean,  its  blue  expanse  imrufllcd  and  unmarred  as  the  azure 
heaven;  and  ah!  no  crimson  banners  flout  the  sky,  and  no 
embattled  hosts  shake  with  their  martial  tread  this  silent  earth. 
'T  is  silence  and  mj'stery  all.  Shall  it  be  ever  thus?  Shall  '\  .j 
green  and  beautiful  world,  which  so  long  hath  slept  invis  r!\- 
at  the  side  of  its  ancient  sister,  still  weave  its  virgin  wreauu 


10 


ne\v-en(;lani)  i,K(;kni)s. 


uusoilod  l)y  jKission  ajul  pnllnfi  mi  f  SliiiU  tliis  now,  vast  page 
in  the  liroad  liistory  ol'  i  lUiiu  iinsulliod,  or  shall  it  soon 

Hutter  in  the  stonn-wiml.s  cl  tato,  and  bo  stanii)od  with  tlio  same 
iron  record,  the  same  dreary  catalogue  of  misery  and  crime,  which 
nils  the  chronicle  of"  the  ekhtr  -world?  'Tis  passing  strange,  this 
sudden  apocalypse  !  Lo  !  is  it  not  as  if  the  universe,  the  narrow 
universe  which  bonmled  men's  thoughts  in  ages  past,  had  swung 
o[)((n,  as  if  by  an  almighty  iiat,  and  sjin^ad  wide  its  eastern  and 
western  wings  at  once,  to  shelter  the  myriads  of  the  human 
race?" 

The  hermit  arose,  slowly  collecteil  a  few  simples  which  he 
had  culled  from  the  wilderness,  a  few  roots  of  early  spring 
flowers  which  he  destined  for  his  garden,  and  stored  them  in 
liis  wallet,  and  then,  grasping  his  long  stalf,  began  slowly  to 
descend  the  hill. 


BOSTON   COMIMOX,— FIliST   PICTITRE. 

liV    (».    W.    noi.MKS. 

[The  first  of  llic  ]ioi't  Tldlnii'.s's  "  Tlirec  I'ictuivs"  (l('i)icts  tlu'  satiic  iicvsou 
and  scene  that  we  liavc  consiilcR'd  the  most  littiiig  introduction  to  our  Legends, 
—  the  solitary  inhabitant  and  tlie  solitude  that  his  i)resenoe  rendered  still  more 
lonely.  I5\it  iireferring  this  to  the  companionship  of  the  "Lord's  brethren,'' 
as  he  is  said  to  have  ealle(l  llie  Puritan  settlers  of  Boston,  Blaekstone  removed 
into  the  heart  of  llie  outlying  wilderness,  where  savages  were  his  oidy  neigh- 
bors. Hen;  ho  died.  The  spot  where  his  lonely  cottage  stood  in  Slniwniut, 
and  tlie  place  where  hi',  is  buried,  are  etpially  nnkninvn.] 


Atj.  overgrown  with  bush  juid  fern. 

And  straggling  clumps  of  tangled  trees, 
With  trunks  that  lean  and  boughs  that  turn, 

Bout  eastward  by  the  masteiing  breeze, — 
With  s])ongy  hogs  that  drip  and  till 

A  yellow  pond  with  nmddj'  rain, 
Bcneatli  tlie  shaggy  southern  hill, 

Lies,  wet  and  low,  the  yiiawmut  plain. 


MISTIIESS    ANNK    irUTClIINSON. 

And  hark  !  tlic  trudilewi  liraiulu'.s  crude  ; 

A  crow  ihips  ott"  with  wtartKid  scream  ; 
A  .strayiiif,'  woodchuck  canters  back  ; 

A  l)ittc'rii  rises  from  the  stream  ; 
Leaps  from  his  hur  a  I'riglitened  deer  ; 

All  otter  phuiges  in  the  pool  ;  — 
Here  comes  old  Shawmut's  jjiuneer. 

The  ixirsou  on  Ids  hriiidled  Inill  ! 


11 


MISTRESS  ANNE  HUTCIIIXSON. 

1634. 

rpjlK   biographies   of  Mrs.    Anne    Hutcliinson    have,    .so   to 
J-     speak,  been  written  by  ber  enemies.     Modern  authors,  in 

writing  of   her,   have   rehearsed   lier  story  from   tlie    point'  of 

view  of  the   seventeenth  century,   and 

Ave  live  in  the  nineteeiitli.     But  History 

accepts  no  verdict  that  is  not  founded 

in  impartial  justice,  and  impartial  justice 

M-as  the  one  thing  that  Anne  Hutchinson 

could  expect  neitlier  from  her  accusers 

nor  her  judges.     All  tiio  errors  imputed 

to  her—  and  they  were  sufficiently  venial 
of  themselves — mere  quibbles,  in  fact- 
might  and  should,  we  think,  luive  been 
settled  within  the  church  of  which  she 
was   a  member;  but  the  voice  of  the 
community  in  which  she  lived,  which 
knew  and  respected   her  most  for  her 
Christian  virtues  and  her  shining  talents, 
was  silenced  in  the  general  outcry  raised 
from  without,  "Crucify  her,  crucify  her!" 
and,  weakly  yielding  to  it,  the  civil  arm 
struck  her  down  as  relentlessly  is  it  would  have  done  the  worst 


LAMP. 


12 


NKW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


IJI 


iii 
Hi! 


of  criminals  or  the  most  (laiigerous  enemy  to  public  order.  ]\rrs. 
Hutchinson  was  driven  with  ignominy  from  her  home  into  exile, 
for  niiiintiiining  in  her  own  house  that  n  mere  profession  of  faith 
coidd  not  evidence  salvation  unless  the  Spirit  lirst  revcahnl  itself 
from  within.  Her  appeal  is  to  be  heard.  It  is  too  late  to  blot 
out  the  record,  but  there  is  yet  time  to  reverse  the  attainder. 

Wo  begin  our  sketch  with  a  simple  introduction. 

Anno  Marbury  was  a  daughter  of  Francis  Marbury,  who  was 
lirst  a  minister  in  Lincolnshire,  and  afterwards  in  London.  This 
fact  should  be  borne  in  iiund  when  following  her  after  career. 
She-  was  the  daughter  of  a  scholar  and  a  theologian.  Naturally, 
therefore,  much  of  her  unmarried  as  well  as  her  married  life  had 
been  passed  in  the  society  of  ministers,  whom  she  learned  to 
esteem  more  for  what  they  knew  than  for  what  they  preached. 
The  same  fact,  too,  her  intellectual  gifts  being  considered,  reason- 
ably accounts  for  her  pondering  deeply  the  truths  of  Christian- 
ity and  her  fondness  for  theological  discussion  both  for  its  own 
sake  and  as  involving  the  great  problem  of  her  own  life.  It 
was  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  had  lived  and  moved  and  had 
her  being.  It  aroused  and  quickened  her  intellectual  faculties 
and  perceptions.  She  lived,  too,  in  a  time  of  great  religious 
excitement,  soon  to  become  one  of  active  warfare,  the  period  of 
the  great  Puritan  revolt,  so  that  it  is  easily  seen  how  that 
movement,  which  luul  enlisted  some  of  the  noblest  women  in 
England,  should  absorb  such  a  one  as  Anne,  who  was  intel- 
lectually an  enthusiast  and  morally  an  agitator,  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  adulation,  and  who 
was  ambitious,  capable,  and  adroit.  While  still  young,  she  mar- 
ried William  Hutchinson,  a  country  gentleman  of  good  character 
and  estate,  also  of  Lincolnshire.  We  know  very  little  of  him, 
and  that  little  comes  from  Winthrop,  the  bitter  enemy  and  per- 
secutor of  his  wife,  who  indeed  speaks  of  the  husband  in  terms 
approaching  contempt.  But  this  is  also  an  unconscious  tril)ute 
to  the  superior  talents  of  Anne.  Were  it  all  true,  we  simply 
discover  once  more  the  mutual  yet  unaccountable  sympathy 
existing  between  a  strong  woman  and  a  weak  man  which  it  is 


I   ■ 


MISTRESS   ANNE   HUTCHINSON. 


13 


the  custom  of  tho  world  to  siitirizo  or  to  siio(>r  at.  Thoro  in, 
hoAvevcr,  little;  (loul)t  tiiut  tlit;  attachment  of  one  for  the  other 
was  mutually  lasting  and  sincere,  in  si)ito  of  the  sore  trials  to 
which  their  married  life  was  exposed.  But  allowing  that  he 
was  eclipsed  Ijy  the  superior  hrilliancy  of  his  wife,  there  is  (^uito 
enough  evidence  to  prove  that  William  Hutchinson  was  a  man 
of  sterling  character  and  worth.  He  i)lay('il  a  .secondary,  but  no 
ignoble,  part  in  the  events  we  have  to  narrate. 

It  happened  that  the  Hutchinsons  were  parishioners  of  the 
Kev.  John  Cotton  when  that  celebrated  divine  was  minister  of 
the  Church  of  JJoston,  in  Lincolnshire.  For  him  and  his  abili- 
ties Mrs.  Hutchinson  had  the  highest  respect  and  esteem.  And 
when  Cotton  iled  to  New  England,  as  he  like  so  many  others 
was  at  Icsngth  compelled  to  do,  in  order  to  escape  from  the 
tyranny  of  tho  bishops,  the  Hutchinsons  also  resolved  to  emi- 
grate thither,  and  presently  the  whole  family  did  so.  It  is 
proper  to  be  mentioned  here  that  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  daughttir 
had  married  the  IJev.  John  AVheelwriglit,  another  mini.ster  of 
Lincolnshire,  who  was  also  deprived  for  nonconformitj',  and 
who  also  came  to  New  England  iu  consequence  of  the  perse- 
cutions of  Archbishop  Laud. 

The  long  interval  that  elapsed  between  the  date  of  her  mar- 
riage and  that  of  her  removal  to  America  is  very  imperfectly 
filled  out  in  the  notices  we  have  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  life.  Wo 
are  not  made  acquainted  with  any  of  those  formative  processes 
by  which  she  became  so  well  equipped  for  the  mental  and  spirit- 
ual conflict  that  she  was  soon  to  enter  upon  with  an  adversary 
who  could  neither  learn  nor  forget.  A  family  had  now  grown 
up  around  her.  Besides  the  daughter,  the  ^Irs.  Wheelwright 
already  mentioned,  there  were  three  sons ;  so  that  it  was  no 
young,  sentimental,  or  unbalanced  novice,  but  a  middle-aged, 
matured,  and  experienced  woman  of  the  world  who  embarked 
in  the  autumn  of  1G34  for  New  England,  looking  eagerly  there 
to  obtain  and  enjoy  liberty  of  conscience  among  those  who 

L  the  earth  could,  to  know 


ipposed,  if  any  people 


its  value. 


14 


NKW-KN(  1 1, A X I >   LF,( ; K N I iS. 


DiM'iiiL,'  tin-  vnyii;4('  she  ciilcicil  iiitu  discussions  with  somn 
Puntiin  iiiiiiistcrs  who  were  ii1m>  j^'oiii;,'  mil  to    New    l'ji;^fliui(l, 

ll|inli  sllrll    alislrUS(!    jMiilils  iis  wllill    were    tlllM'viilrllct'S  of   jiisti- 

iicatinii,  ami  she  limailly  liiiitcil  lli:il  wlicn  tlify  sluniM  iii'riv<' 
at  tiifii'  ilivsliiuitiuu  llii'y  iiii;^lit  ('Xjioct  Id  liour  iiHU'c  rroiii  luT. 
Fniiii  those  thiiij,'s,  trivial  in  themselves,  it  is  (dear  that  Mrs. 
Hutchinson  considered  herselt'  to  have  a  mission  to  deliver  to 
the  people  and  churches  of  New  Knglaml.  She  avowtul  her 
entire  Itelief  in  direct  revelations  made  to  the  elect,  moreover 
declaring,'  that  never  had  anythin<,'  of  im]»ortanee  happened  to 
her  Avhich  had  not  been  revealed  to  her  beforehand. 

The  vessel  made  her  port  on  (he  IcSth  of  Sei)teml)er,  l(!."{k 
Its  appearance  Avas  so  mean  and  so  uninviting',  that  one  of  her 
fellow  passengers,  supixxsinj,'  it  to  have  depres.seil  her  spirits, 
commented  upon  it,  in  ortU-r,  as  it  appeared,  to  draw  her  out. 
l!ut  she  denied  that  the  meanness  of  the  place  hud  in  any  way 
alfectetl  her,  because,  as  she  said,  "slu;  knew  that  tlu;  bounds 
of  her  habitation  M'ere  alieady  determined." 

I'poii  their  ariival,  .Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson  made  their 
application  to  bo  receivt'd  as  members  of  the  clnu'ch.  This 
step  was  indispensable  to  admit  them  into  Christian  fellowship 
anil  him  to  the  privileges  of  a  citizen.  He  was  ailmitteil  in  Octo- 
ber, but  in  conseipience  of  the  reports  already  spread  concerning 
Iier  extravagant  o[iinions,  !Mrs.  Hutchinson  was  sulijected  to  a 
searching  examination  before  her  request  was  granted.  She, 
however,  passed  through  the  ordeal  safely,  the  examining  min- 
isters, one  of  whom  was  her  old  and  beloved  pastor,  Mr.  Cotton, 
declaring  themselves  satisfied  with  her  answers.  She  entered 
the  Boston  church  in  November, 

For  some  time  onward  we  hear  very  little  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson, 
except  that  she  was  treated  with  i)articular  respect  and  attention 
by  Mr,  (Jotton  and  others.  The  getting  settled  in  a  new  home 
probably  occupi<'d  her  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  Her 
husband  took  a  house  in  Boston,  and  being  duly  admitted  a 
freeman  of  the  Colony,  ho  was  immediately  called  upon  to  bear 
his  part  in  business  of  public  concern,  vvdiich  he  did  Avillingly 


MISTKKSH    ANXK    IIITCIIINSOX. 


15 


mill  I'aitlilully.  lie  rcccivrd  a  ;4MUit  tif  lainl,-,  in  Draiiiticc  iVoiii 
llic  (  icIU'lal  ( 'nlll't.  Ill'  was  clccti'd  tn,  ailil  Sfl'Vi'il  i'lil'  several 
telllis  a^  a   ilepllty   ill,   this  limly,   il    being,  Miliuulallv   elinllMh.   Ilis 

t'nrluiu'  to  sit  a.s  ii  nieiulier  when  Kn'^er  Williams  was  lirnii^'lit 
to  the  liar,  tried  lor  liis  heretical  (i|iiiii()iis,  ami  Iiaiiisheil  hy  it 

•  mt  (if  till'  Colnliy. 

Tlio  year  Ki.'Wl  was  destined  (o  wilni'ss  one  (jf  the  ''VcJitost 
r('Ii;;i()iis  I'liiiiiiiotidiis  that  have  ever  |)U//.led  ihi'  unlearned  or  seri- 
ously called  in  nuestioii  the  wi-.doin  of  the  founders  of  the  Colony. 
'I'lie  more  it  is  stiulied  the  more  ine\]ilicalile  it  a|i|iear.s. 


SITI',    OF    MltS,    urrcilINSON  S    llolSK. 


A  young  man  of  liheral  views,  who  liiid  not  1)e(Mi  hardened 
l)y  jiersocution,  was  then  governor  of  the  Colony,  and,  for  the 
moment,  the  popular  idol.  This  was  Harry  Vane,  who  after- 
wards died  on  the  scalfold.  He  with  Mr.  Cotton  took  much 
notice  of  ]\rrs.  Hutchinson,  and  their  example  was  (piickly  fol- 
lowed by  the  leading  and  intlueiitial  peoples  of  the  town,  who 
treated  her  with  mucdi  consideration  and  respect.  Already  her 
benevolence  toward  the  sulfering  or  the  needy  had  won  for  her 


*r 


16 


NKW-ENGLANI)    LKCKNDH. 


nmny  frionds,  wliilc  licr  inticpidity  of  .soul  ami  linr  fiapiutity 
I'or  ilciiliiij,'  with  tlio.so  intt.Tusliii},'  (|ue.stioii.s  iVoiii  tip'  tli.sciissiou 
(if  which  tlii-y  were  i'X('lii(h;cl,  k-d  imuiy  of  her  own  sox  to  look 
up  to  her  not  only  us  u  person  whose  opinions  wi-ni  wortii 
rcyiii'iliiig,  l)ut  also  with  aiUnirution  amounting;  to  honiaj;i'. 

Ailoptinj4  an  rstalilishuil  custom  of  tlit;  town,  Mrs.  Hutchinson 
helil  in  hi*i'  own  hoiisi^  two  weekly  luuutin^s,  —  one  for  men  ami 
women,  uml  one  exclusively  for  women,  —  at  which  she  was  the 
orai'le.  TliL'so  nieetin;^'s  wore  for  no  other  jiurpose  than  to  hear 
read  and  to  discuss  the  sermons  of  the  pi'evious  Sahltath,  and 
for  ^'eneral  reli^jiuus  conversation  and  edilication.  They  were 
what  would  b(!  calletl  in  our  own  day  a  club.  The  l)rinj,dnf,' 
women  together  in  any  way  for  independent  thouy;ht  and  action 
was  a  most  Ijold  and  novel  innovation,  recpiirin;^'  much  moral 
couraj^'c  on  the  part  of  the  mover.  Her  manner  and  atMress, 
her  really  wit,  her  thorough  mastery  of  her  subject,  the  strong 
purpcse  she  displayed,  established  her  ascendency  in  these  dis- 
cassions,  and  were  fast  gaining  for  her  a  popularity  that,  spread- 
ing from  lier  house  as  a  centre,  alarmed  the  ministers  for  their 
own  bold  upon  the  publi('  mind,  ami  so  determined  them  to 
cull  her  and  her  doctrines  seriously  to  account. 

That  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  conversations  were  not  at  first  con- 
sidered to  be  dangerous  either  in  themselves  or  in  their  elleris, 
is  clear  from  the  fact  that  tlie  most  eminent  ministei-s  and 
magistrates,  attracted  by  her  fame,  came  from  all  ipiarters  to 
bear  and  dis|)uto  witli  her.  Such  was  her  ready  command  of 
►Scripture  authorities  and  her  skill  in  using  all  the  weajwn:  of 
argument,  that  the  strongest  beads  in  the  colony  found  them- 
selves unable  to  cope  witb  her  successfully  upon  her  chosen 
ground.  She  was  impassioned,  she  was  adroit ;  she  was  an 
enthusiast,  and  yet  she  was  sulitle,  logical,  and  deep  :  she  was 
a  woman  who  believed  liersolf  inspired  to  do  a  certain  Avork, 
and  who  bad  the  courage  of  lier  convictions.  Could  any  other 
have  brought  such  men  as  Cotton,  Vane,  Wheelwright,  Codding- 
ton,  completely  to  embrace  her  views,  or  have  sent  one  like 
Winthrop  to  his  closet,  wrestling  with  himself,  yet  more  than 


MISTUKSS    ANNK    IIUTCIIIN.SON. 


17 


lialf  pcratiiulud]  To  ciill  such  ii  woiiiiiii  an  lulvonturcsM,  a  tt;r- 
ma;,'aiit,  ur  a  "Jr/oln'l,"  is  a  ^'lavo  it'llcLtioii  upuii  tho  uudcr- 
atuiulin^'  of  moiik!  of  tho  Iwst  minds  in  tho  Colony. 

Aniu!  Hutchinson's  doctrines  wore,  in  jihiin  Kn^lish,  these  : 
She  held  and  advocated  as  the  highest  truth  that  a  person  could 
ho  justilied  only  by  an  adual  and  iiiaiiifcst  revelation  of  tlio 
spirit  to  him  personally.  There  could  be,  .she  said,  no  other 
evidence  of  grace.  She  repudiated  a  doctrine  of  works,  and 
she  donietl  that  holiness  of  living  alono  could  ho  recoivcul  as 
«3vidonco  of  rogoneration,  since  hypocrites  might  live  outwanlly 
as  pure  lives  as  tho  .mints  do.  The  I'uritun  churches  hold  that 
.sanctilication  l)y  tho  will  was  evidence  of  juslilii'ation. 

For  a  time  people  of  every  condition  wen^  drawn  into  tho 
ilisputo  about  these  suhtleties.  Tho  Boston  church  divided  upon 
it,  the  greater  numl)er,  however,  siding  with  Mr.  Cotton,  whoso 
views  were  understood  to  agree  with  those  maintained  by  Mrs. 
Hutchinson.  From  IJoston  it  rapidly  spread  into  tiio  country, 
but  thcu'c,  removed  from  llie  potent  personal  magnetism  of  Mrs. 
Hutchinson,  the  clergy  were  better  able  to  withstand  the  move- 
ment that  it  may  be  truly  .said  had  carried  Boston  by  storm. 

In  announcing  these  opinions  of  hers,  Mrs.  JIutchinson  freely 
criticised  those  ministers  who  preached  a  covenant  of  works. 
This  end)ittereil  them  toward  her.  Fjnlxddened  l)y  the  in- 
creasing numlier  of  her  followers,  .she  became  more  and  more 
aggres.sivo,  so  that  tho  number  of  her  enemies  was  increasing  in 
proportion  to  that  of  hv.v  pro.selytes.  Tho  breach  that  coolness 
and  moderation  might  easily  have  bridged  soon  widened  into 
a  gulf  tliat  could  not  be  crossed.  Unsuspicious  of  any  danger, 
or  that  what  was  said  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  house  was 
being  carefully  treasured  up  against  her,  ])oor  Mrs.  Hutchinson 
was  led  into  speaking  her  mind  more  freely  as  to  doctrines  and 
persons  than  was  consistcmt  with  jjrudenco  or  foresight,  so  that 
before  she  was  aware  of  it  what  had  so  far  been  a  harmless  war 
of  words,  now  becoming  an  unreconcilable  feud,  burst  fortli  into 
n  war  of  iactions.     Events  then  marched  rapidly  on. 

Governor  Winthrop  and  Mr.  AVilsou,  the  pastor  of  the  church, 

2 


18 


NKW-KN(iI.ANIi   I.KCIKNKH. 


I 


led  III '  oppuxitioii  ill  rxi.Htoii,  'I'Ik;  liiiitli  r  wan  firAt  liroiii^ht 
beforu  tlie  (iciiiTiil  Coinl  ii|inii  a  Hcrniuii  jiivaclu'il  by  Mr.  Wliuel- 
wi'i),'lit,  anil  ill  this  liody  tliu  roiintry  was  aMr  In  make  licad 
aj,'aiii.st  the  liiwii.  A  iicrHonal  stru^'ylc  I'liritU'd  hctwct'ii  Wiiillirii|) 
and  \'ani',  in  whidi  tlic  fniiiu'r  was  victoiiiais.  Vani?  tlicii  Idl 
llic  {iiiintry  in  ilis;4iist. 

'I'lic  party  li.ivin^'  as  it  wtTi'  lost  its  licad,  made  iin  iliirorfncL' 
with  Mrs.  Ilutcliinsdii.  She  I'onlinuid  lur  lirtuivs,  nndisturlicd 
liy  llif  si;,'iis  ni'  the  approacliiiij,'  «tnrni,  until  all  the  (Iiiirclics 
could  he  siinininniMl  to;-.  j^TUcral  .synod,  wliicli  a.sM'iiiiilcd  in  ;,'ifat 
Kol('innit\  at  ('anil)rid,!4c,  to  .sit  in  jnd;^iiiciit  niion  tin;  new  and 
starllin;^  l'"aiiiilisti(!  doctiiiirti.  'I'liis  was  llic  lirst  synod  held  in 
tho  western  li('nii:iiiliciv.  li,>  dililii  rations  wm;  im-ccdcd  liy 
a  day  of  I'a.liip^  and  prayir  I  liroiiL!,lioiii  llii>  ('(ilmiy.  What  it 
tlocriicd  Would  Im'  .'^n.staiuod  hy  tho  civil  power. 

Th(  convocation  was  a  stormy  one.  Tlirci^  weeks  wero  spent 
in  di.sciissiiig  the  ermrs  that  were  rornnilated  in  tlu^  indictment 
presunt(!d  to  it,  I'eici'ivin,^  the  ilril't  toward  j)orsocntion,  some 
of  tlie  nieniliei's  I'nr  Iloston  withdrew  in  dis^'u.st.  The  Syiidd 
llnislic'd  liy  eondeninin;^  as  heresies  all  of  the  eighty  odd  point.s 
covering'  tho  now  opinions,  thus  hrin;4in<,'  them  within  the  ])iile 
of  the  law.  ^Ir.  ('ott(jn  was  either  too  weak  or  too  politic  to 
withstand  the  pressure  hrouj^ht  to  Ijcar  upon  him,  and  ho  gavo 
a  (jualiiied  adhesion  to  the  lU'ocoodin.g.s. 

Boing  tlius  hacked  hy  the  whole  s[iiritual  ]io\ver  of  tho  Colony, 
tlie  "Winthrop  party  no  longer  liesitated  to  use  sovore  raeasuros. 
^fr.  Wheelwright  was  lirst  called  before  the  Court,  to  ho  sum- 
marily sentenced  to  disfranchisoment  and  hanishment.  No 
one  ])retends  that  he  was  not  an  able,  pure,  and  upright  man. 
Others  of  ^frs.  ITuti'hiiison's  adherents  received  various  .sen- 
tences. Then  the  priestess  and  jirophetess  hensolf  was  ixrraigned 
at  the  bar  as  a  criminal  of  the  most  dangerous  kind. 

The  proceedings  at  this  trial  are  preserved  in  the  '■  History  of 
Massachusetts  under  thv  Colony  and  Province,"  of  which  Gov- 
ernor Hutchinson,  the  descendant  of  the  persecuted  Anne,  is  the 
author.     Tlicy  are  voluminous.     Winthro}),  who  presided,  hrst 


MISTUKSS   ANNK    IHTCHINSdN. 


iU 


ciitiM'liisod  hiT.  Slic  aiLswiTfil  liim  lidlilly,  l>ut  with  ilij^'tiity. 
'I'licii  hi'iKl.strrcl,  iiiul  thou  hiulli'V,  tlic  4('|iiity-^,'nV('rniir,  took 
turns  in  trying'  to  t'xtort  from  lirT  sonio  ilunia^'in^,'  inliiiissinii. 


tell 


Xoitlicjr  siK^cuedcd.  Govcrnur 
Wintliroi»  allows  as  much  when 
usiuj,'  this  cxtnionliuary  lau- 
<ruago  toward  the  prisouor  who 
is  dofcndinj,'  herself  siiiglo- 
handtnl  against  a  multitudt!  of 
prosocuturs  : 

"It  is  well  discerned   to  the 
Court  that  ^Irs.  Hutchinson  can 
when  to  speak  ami  when  to  hold  her  tongue.      Upon  the 


f' 


20 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


I         ! 


tN 


answering  of  ii  (luestion  vvliich  wo  desiro  her  to  tell  her  tlioughta 
of,  she  desires  to  be  j)ardoned." 

Anne  lluteliinson  did  not  fall  into  the  snare.  8he  repli'd  : 
"  It  is  one  thing  for  nie  to  come  before  a  [juIjIic  magistracy  and 
there  to  speak  wliat  they  would  have  uie  to  speak,  and  another 
wlu^n  a  man  comes  to  nm  in  a  way  of  friendshij),  privately; 
there  is  diUerenee  in  that." 

Six  of  the  foreni(jst  ministers  in  the  Colony,  among  whom 
were  the  Apostle  Mliot  and  the  subse(niently  famous  Hugh 
Peters,  then  gave  evidence  that  she  had  tohl  them  they  were 
not  able  ministers  of  tlie  New  Testament,  antl  that  they  i)reac;h(Ml 
a  covenant  of  works.  Only  Mr.  Shepard,  of  the  Cambritlge 
church,  spoke  of  her  considerately ;  the  rest  hail  steeled  them- 
selves against  her. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  gave  a  plump  denial  to  some  things  that 
these  ministi'i's  had  alleged,  and  then  she  prudently  askcHl  that 
they  might  be  reipiired  to  give  their  evidence  under  oath,  in 
a  case  touching  her  personal  liberty  as  this  did.  To  this  the 
Governor  strongly  demurred ;  but  Mrs.  Hutchinson  stoutly  main- 
taining her  rigjit,  she  finally  prevailed.  From  a  score  or  more 
of  accusers,  the  number  of  ministers  who  were  willing  to  swear 
was  thus  reduced  to  three. 

The  t)nly  persons  who  spoke  for  her  were  silenced  by  being 
browbeaten.  Her  fate  was  determined  when  the  Coui't  assem- 
bled. Mr.  Cotton  defended  her  weakly  and  eipiivocally.  Mr. 
Coddington  most  valiantly,  but  to  as  little  purpose.  Seeing 
how  the  case  was  going  against  her,  he  spoke  \ip  hotly  while 
smarting  under  a  rebuke  just  administered  by  the  President : 

"  I  beseech  you  ilo  not  speak  so  to  force  things  along,  for  I 
do  not,  for  my  own  part,  see  any  ec[uity  in  all  your  proceedings. 
Here  is  no  law  of  Cod  that  she  hath  broken,  nor  any  law  of  the 
country,  and  therefore  deserves  no  censure.  And  if  she  say  that 
the  elders  preach  as  the  apostles  did  (before  the  Ascension),  why 
they  preached  a  covenant  of  grace,  and  what  wrong  is  that  to 
them  ?  " 

Governor  "Winthrop  then  pronounced  sentence  of  banishment 


MISTJiESS   A.\.\'E   IIUTCIllXSON.  21 

asainst  the  won,,,,,  wl,„,  „»  CocUinj-fcu  truly  said,  "  l„,J  w„k„, 

110  I,iw  wtl„,r  of  (JoJ  or  of  i„au.»  '"'" 

Tl,is  „,„ck«,y  „f  „   trial,  in  which   tho  j„Jg«  oxpoun.lcl 

rtsptcte  1  ,„t,l  the.  ,,rosfcutoi.»  were  sha,„e,l  i„to  allowi,,.  the 

son  was  ,lol  vereJ  ,„to   the  custody  of  Mr.  Joseph   Weld    of 
Roxbury      She  had  .,ti,l  „„„the,,  probably  a  harde  ,  trial  to  1 
tl.ro,,gh  w.lh,  whe„    the    Boston  ehnrei,  of  whiei   sh      LI 
member,  and  which  had  so  h.teiy  applauded  and  ca,.s  „,     L 
at  ,  ■  ,„dg,„e„t  upon  her  and  c.c„m,„u„ieated  her.     Her  ta 
ban. It  en  sold  a  1  his  property,  a.,,1  removed  with  his  , ,      y 

h.l  br„„,,t  the,„  un,ler  the  cens.n-e  of  .he  governing  .owers 
M..  Hutchinson  nobly  stood  by  his  wife  to  the  last.  Vl,e„  a 
connrnttee  of  the  Boston  church  went  to  IM.ode  Island  for  th 
p  ,po„c,f  e„,cavor,„g  to  bring  these  lost  sheep  ba.-k  into  the 
fold,  he  told  them  that  he  accounted  his  wife  "a  .lear  sa,I 
and  servant  of  (hid." 

The  triumphant  opposition  now  carried  .natters  with  a  heavy 
'a.,d       A\  ,„tl„.op  strenuously  e.xerted  hhnself  to  crush  Mrs 
H,  ch„,.„,u  s  f,,i,„we„.     ,„  ,„„       ,,„^„  „,  ^,  .^  «- 

o         pr,ne,pal  ...habitants  of  Boston  who  h,ad  bec:me  invoT™ 
...  tl.^se  troubles,  a..,l  who  were  now  deprive.1  of  their  p,ditica 

Jda,.d.      Of  these  Cod.l.ngton  an.I  I.„.„.,.er  h.a.l  been  .assist 

ants  or  counsellors ;  Hulebinson,  Coggoshall,  an,l  Aspiuw  „      1 

«a..v..s.     nai.,sfor,,,  .SanfoM,  .Sav.age,  Eliot,  Lto.      e  ! 

.lall,  a..d  De  ..son,  were  all  perso,.s  of  .listh.etio...     About  si.tv 

hers  were  d.sarnred.    These  e,.iles.  having  purchased  .1,    i^ 

tiTilTf,  "?•  V""!"™""''  '"■^'-y  "  Wefly  told.     After 
the  death  of  her  hnsban.l,  which  happened  five  yea,,  later,  she 


■-,  -^SSEb;! 


i\ 


>)•) 


N KW-KNULAND    LEGENDS. 


again  roniovod  with  hvv  I'aiiiily  into  tlio  Dutch  territory  ol'  Now 
Muthin'huids,  settling  near  wluit  is  now  Xew  liochclk'!.  During 
the  following  yinir  her  house  was  suddenly  assaulted  by  hostilo 
Indians,  who,  in  their  revengeful  fury,  murdered  the  whole 
liimily,  excepting  oidy  one  daughter,  who  was  carried  away  into 
captivity. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson's  oil'cnce  consisted  in  using  the  great  intel- 
lectual powers  with  which  she  was  undeniably  gifted  for  solving 
the  problem  of  her  own  life.  Her  enemies  vanquished,  but  they 
could  not  convince,  her.  It  is  not  denied  that  she  was  a  pure 
woman,  an  atfectionate  wife  and  mother,  to  the  poor  a  bene- 
factor, and  to  her  convictions  of  Cliristian  duty  conscientious 
and  faithful  to  the  last.  To  succeeding  generations  she  is  an 
amazing  t;xampk)  of  the  intolerance  existing  in  lier  day. 


THE   DEATH   OF   RAINSBOROUGH. 


'^1 


i  ;' 


in 


m 


I  >i 


1648. 

THE  civil  wars  in  England  preceding  the  dethronemcut  and 
death  of  Charles  I.  opened  an  alluring  held  for  reaping 
individual  renown  which  many  adventurous  New  Englanders 
hastened  to  enter.  It  was  there  in  New  England,  if  anywhere, 
that  the  revolt  against  the  crushing  tyranny  from  Avhich  thou- 
sands had  iled  should  iind  its  legitimate  echo.  Moreover,  an 
appeal  to  arms  had  become  the  dream  of  many  of  the  enthusias- 
tic young  men  of  this  martial  age.  No  sooner,  therefore,  had  the 
sword  boon  drawn,  than  these  men  of  New  England,  taking 
their  ("Jeneva  Bibles  and  their  Spanish  rapiers  in  their  hands, 
enrolled  themselves  under  the  banners  of  the  Parliament,  and 
some  of  them  carved  with  their  good  blades  an  enduring  record 
upon  the  history  of  the  time. 

Eoremost  among  these  volunteers  for  the  Puritan  cause  was 
William  Rainsborough,  who  lived  here  in  1G39,  and  was,  with 


THE   DEATH   OK    IIAIXSBOUOUGH. 


23 


Robert  Sedgwick  and  Israel  .Stougliton,  then  a  meiuber  of  the 
noiK.rablo  Artillery  Company  of  JJuston.  Haiusborough  had 
speedily  lisen  to  be  colonel  of  a  regiment  in  the  Parliamentary 
army,  in  ^vhich  this  Stoughton  was  lieutenant-colonel,  ^'ehemiah 
Bourne,  a  J3ostou  shipwright,  major,  and  John  Leverett,  after- 
wards governor,  a  caj.tain  ;  William  Hudson,  supposed  to  be 
also  of  Jiuston,  was  .Misign.  A  son  of  ( rovernor  Winthrop  also 
served  with  credit  in  these  same  wars,  and  in  New  England 
the  having  furnished  one  of  (Jliver's  soldiers  was  long  one  of 
the  most  valued  of  liuuily  traditions. 

Rainsbonuigh  owed  his  rapid  advancement  to  the  distinguished 
gallantry  that  he  displayed  in  the  held,  as  well  i.s  to  his  zeal 
for  the  cause,  both  of  which  qualilications,  so  essential  in  the 
Puritan  soldier,  earned  for  him  the  warm  friendship  of  Crom- 
well, with  whom  lie  was  thoroughly  one  in  si)irit.  Indeerl  he 
appears  to  have  held  political  sentiments  quite  as  advanced  as 
those  of  his  great  huider.  We  iind  him  sustaining  positions  of 
high  trust  botli  in  camp  and  council,  always  with  ability,  and 
always  with  credit  to  himself  and  his  patron. 

In  the  memora])le  storming  of  Bristol,  then  held  by  Prince 
Rupert,  Rainsburough  commanded  a  brigade  whicli  was  posted 
in  front  of  the  strongest  i)art  of  the  enemy's  line  of  defence. 
The  duty  of  assaulting  tliis  position  fell  to  liim.  ('romwcll  tells 
how  it  was  performed,  in  an  ollicial  letter  written  from  Bristol 
immediately  after  the  surriMider  of  tlie  place. 

"Colonel  Painsborough's  post  was  near  to  Durham  Dc  vn, 
whc'reof  the  dragoons  and  three  regiments  of  horse  made  good  >- 
post  upon  the  Down,  h.etween  him  and  the  River  Avon,  on  his 
right  hand.  And  fiom  Colonel  Painsborough's  (luarters  to 
Frooin  River,  (,n  his  left,  n  p;v:'t  of  Colonel  'Bi.vt/s  and  tli.; 
whole  of  General  Skippo„'s  regin.jnt  were  to  mi,i  itain  that 
post." 

The  signal  for  storming  being  given,  the  Parliamentary 
troops  advanced  with  great  resolution  against  the  enemy's  whole 
line,  and  were  suddenly  in  possession  of  the  greater  portion 
of  it. 


■"«H  \  I  iw.^ 


24 


NEW-ENGL.\^D   LEGENDS. 


I. . 


if   ! 


!|*; 


"During  this,"  suys  tho  (jli-mTal,  "Colonel  Kainsbornngh  and 
Colonel  Hammond  attenqited  I'ryor's  lliil  Fort  and  le  line 
downward  towards  I'^room;  antl  tho  major-general's  regiment 
being  to  storm  towards  Froom  liiver,  Colonel  Hammond  i)os- 
sessed  tlie  line  immediatel}',  and  beating  tho  enemy  from  it, 
made  way  for  tlie  horse  to  enter.  Colonel  Ifainsborough,  who 
had  the  hardest  task  of  all  at  Pryor's  Hill  Fort,  attempted  it, 
and  fought  near  three  hours  for  it.  And  indeed  there  was  great 
des^)air  of  earrying  the  place,  it  being  exceedingly  high,  a  ladder 
of  thirty  rountis  scarcely  reaching  tlie  top  thereof;  but  his  reso- 
lution was  such  tliat,  notwitljstanding  the  inaccessibleness  and 
difhculty,  lie  would  not  give  it  over.  Tho  enemy  had  four 
pieces  of  cannon  upon  it,  which  they  jilied  with  round  and  case 
shot  upon  our  men ;  his  lieutenant.  Colonel  Boweu  (Bourne), 
and  others  were  two  hours  at  push  of  pike,  standing  upon  tho 
palisades,  but  could  not  enter.  But  now  Colonel  Hammond 
being  entered  the  lino  ...  by  means  of  this  entrance  of  Colonel 
Hammond,  they  did  storm  th<'  f(nt  on  that  part  wliich  was 
inward  ;  and  so  Colonel  Kainsborough's  and  Colonel  Hammond's 
men  entered  the  fort,  and  immediately  put  almost  all  the  men 
in  it  to  the  sword." 

For  his  resolute  bravery  on  tliis  occasicju  Tliiiusborough  was 
one  of  the  otticers  deputed  by  Fairfax  to  receive  tho  surrender 
of  the  place. 

Rainsborougli  subsequently  acted  as  one  of  tho  connnissioners 
from  the  Army,  with  Ireton  and  Hannnond,  to  treat  witli  the 
King,  and  he  was  also  one  of  the  officers  who  stirred  up  in  the 
Army  that  spirit  of  discontent  with  tlie  half  measures  of  Parlia- 
ment which,  bursting  out  into  open  revolt,  paved  tlie  way  to  its 
final  and  humiliating  downfall. 

When  the  insurrection  immediately  preceding  the  second 
civil  war  broke  out,  Eainsborough  was  in  command  and  on 
board  of  the  English  fleet,  and  he  is  then  called  Admiral 
Eainsborough.  It  is  well  known  that  tho  sailors  embraced, 
almost  to  a  man,  the  Royalist  side.  They  put  their  Admiral  on 
shore,  and  then  hoisted  sail  for  Holland  and  tho  young  Prince 


THE    DEATH   OF    HAINSUOUorcni. 


25 


of  Wales.     Rainsl)oroiigh  then  went  up  to  Lonilon,   presently 
receiving  orders  to  go  u])on  his  lust  service,  into  Yorkshire. 

It  was  in  the  year  U!48  that  the  Yorksliire  Royalists,  who 
had  been  living  in  quiet  since  tlie  lirst  war,  were  again  excited 
by  intelligence  of  Duke  Hamilton's  intendetl  invasion.  A  i)lan 
was  laid  and  successfully  carried  out  l)y  them  to  suri)rise  Pom- 
fret  Castle  (sometimes  called  Pontefract),  tlio  greatest  and 
strongest  castle  in  all  England,  then  lield  by  Colonel  Cotterel  as 
governor  for  tiio  Parliament.  It  was  then  victualled  to  with- 
stand a  long  siege.  The  Castle  was  soon  besiegetl  by  .^ir  Edward 
Phodes  and  Sir  Henry  Cholmondley  witli  five  thousand  regular 
troops,  but  the  royal  garrison  stubbornly  held  out  fur  the 
King. 

It  being  likely  to  prove  a  tedious  affair,  General  Painsborough 
was  sent  from  London  by  the  Parliament  to  put  a  speedy  end 
to  it.  He  pitched  his  head(puirters  for  the  moment  at  I)(jn- 
caster,  twelve  miles  from  Pomfret,  with  twelve  hundred  foot 
and  two  regiments  of  horse. 

The  Castle  garrison  having  in  some  way  learned  of  Hamilton's 
disastrous  defeat  at  Preston,  that  he  Avas  in  full  retreat  for  Scot- 
land, and  that  Sir  IMarmaduke  Langdale,  who  commanded  the 
English  in  that  battle,  was  a  j^risoner,  formed  tlie  bold  design 
of  seizing  General  Painsborough  in  his  camp  and  liolding  him 
as  a  liostage  for  Sir  Marmaduke;  for  it  Avas  clear  enough  that  the 
principal  actors  in  this  unlucky  rising  would  now  be  in  great 
lu'ril  of  losing  their  heads  on  tlie  charge  of  higli  treason.  Tlic 
scheme  seemed  all  the  more  feasible  because  the  Gt-neral  and 
his  men  were  under  no  apprehension  of  any  surprise  ;  the  Castle 
being  twelve  miles  distant,  closely  besieged,  and  being  moreover 
now  the  only  garrison  lield  for  the  King  in  all  England. 

The  plan  was  shrewdly  laid,  favored  by  circumstances,  and 
was  completely  successful,  except  that  instead  of  l)ringiiig  the 
General  off  as  a  prisoner,  they  killed  him.  With  twenty-two 
picked  men,  all  bold  riders  and  well  mounted.  Captain  William 
Paulden  penetrated  through  the  besiegers'  lines  into  Doncaster 
undiscovered.      Tlie   guards   were   immediately   assaulted    and 


TlIK    DKATil    OF    liAINSROUOUOII. 


27 


(li.sjior.s(Ml,  wliilt)  a  party  of  fnui'  troupiTs  iiiadn  direct  lor  the 
(Jeiicral's  luil;^iii;,'.s.  At  tin;  d.ior  tlicy  were  luct  hy  his  lioiitcniaiit, 
who,  iipou  their  aiiiiuuiiciuj,'  that  they  had  cuino  with  dt'.s[)atcho.s 
I'miu  (ioneral  Cnjinwell,  coiiductod  thoiu  to  the  diambcr  where 
Ilainsborouj^li  was  in  bed.  While  tlie  (Jciieral  was  opeiiiii;^' 
the  false  desi)atili,  which  euiitaiiied  nothiiig  l)iit  hlank  paper, 
the  Kiii^^'s  men  told  him  that  he  was  their  |)risoiiei',  l)ut  that 
not  a  hair  of  his  head  shonld  lie  toue]ie(l  if  he  went  (piietly 
aloug  with  them.  They  then  disarmed  his  lieutenant,  who  had 
so  innocently  facilitated  their  desi-n,  and  Ijioiight  both  the 
( leneral  and  him  out  of  the  house.  A  horse  stood  ready  .sachllcd, 
which  JJainsborou^di  was  directed  to  mount.  He  at  hrst  seemed 
willing'  to  do  .so,  and  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup;  l)ut  upon  look- 
in;^-  about  him  and  .seeing  oidy  four  imemies,  while  his  lieutenant 
and  a  sentinel  (whom  they  had  not  disarmed)  were  .standing  by 
him,  he  suddenly  [)ulle(l  his  foot  out  of  the  stirrup  and  cried 
out,  "^lrai.s/  Anus  f" 

Ul)on  this,  one  of  his  enemies,  letting  fall  his  sword  and  pis- 
tol,—  for  tlu!  ol)ject  was  to  take  the  (Jeneral  alive, — caught 
hold  of  liainsbor(JUgli,  Avho  grap])lod  ficircely  with  him,  and  l)oth 
fell  struggling  to  the  ground.  The  ( ieneral's  lieutenant  then 
picked  up  the  trooper's  pi.stol,  but  was  instantly  run  through 
the  body  by  I'auhU'n's  lieutenant  while  he  was  in  the  act  of 
cocking  it.  A  third  then  stablied  L'ainsborough  in  the  neck  ; 
yet  the  (leneral  gained  his  leet  with  the  trooper's  sword,  Avith 
whom  he  hail  been  struggling,  in  his  hand.  Seeing  him  detei' 
mined  to  die  rather  than  be  taken,  the  lieutenant  of  the  party 
then  passed  his  sword  through  his  body,  when  the  brave  but 
ill-fated  iiainsborough  fell  dead  ujjou  the  pavement  of  the 
courtyard. 


28 


NEW-E 


J  LEtiENDS. 


I       >: 


THE  CASE  OF  MISTRESS  ANN   IIII3B1NS. 

1656. 

"  rr^lIE  ik'vil  is  in  it  1 "      Is  iKit  this  pithy  expression,  we  in- 
-I-     ([uiiv,  a  surviving  inoniento  of  the  dark  day  of  super- 
stition, when  ov(.'rythin<,'  that  was  stranj,'e  or  inexplieabk)  was  by 
common  consent  referred  to  the  devices  of  the  Kvil  One  1 

It  would  be  both  interesting,'  and  instructive  further  to  ask 

if  there  are  still  people  who  regard 
spillin;^'  the  salt,  beginning  a  journey 
on  Friday,  breaking  a  looking-glass,  or 
sitting  with  thirteen  at  the  table,  as 
things  of  evil  omen,  to  be;  scrupulously 
avoided;  or  whether  they  would  l)e 
willing  to  admit  that  hanging  a  charm 
about  ;i  child's  neck,  setting  a  hen  on 
an  odil  iHuidjer  of  eggs,  putting  trust 
in  a  rusty  horseshoe,  or  seeing  the 
moon  over  a  jiarticular  shoulder, — 
to  say  nothing  of  dreams,  signs,  or 
haunted  houses,  —  are  neither  more 
nor  less  than  so  many  indications  of 
the  proneness  of  our  nature  to  admit 
the  supernatural.  Xor  is  it  so  long 
ago  since  people  were  living  in  the 
rural  towns  of  New  England  who  could  remember  reputed 
witches,  and  what  dread  they  inspired  in  the  minds  of  the 
ignorant  or  the  timid.  Ujion  looking  back  over  the  ground 
that  the  enlightenment  of  the  age  has  conquered,  one  is  half 
inclined  to  say  that,  in  some  form  or  other,  superstition  will  be 
about  the  last  thing  eradicated  from  the  human  mind.  It  is  in 
order  to  enable  the  reader  fairly  to  make  the  comparison  of  his 


NIGUT    WATCIIMAX. 


MIW.    ANN    1IIDI3INS. 


29 


own  witli  iv  rciiioti^  tiiiK'  thiit  w<!  oH'or  him  tho.so  liiiits  bt'tiiic 
bt'^'iiiuin^'  our  story  ahoiit  Mrs.   llibhins. 

The  little  that  can  ho  rocoverod  conouniinj,'  tliis  most  unfor- 
tunato  woman,  of  whom  wc  would  gUulIy  know  moru  than  wo 
do,  [)uts  any  coiintfcteii  account  of  her  out  of  tho  ([Uostion. 
Our  curiosity  is  stron^dy  i»ii|U('(l,  unly  to  bo  unsutislicd  at  last 
by  a  piMMisal  of  tho  few  moagro  s('ra[)s  that  have  thu  seal  of 
autlicnticity  upon  thorn.  Mor  is  it  at  all  prolmblo  that  it  uvor 
will  bo  satisliod. 

We  simply  know  that  "Mra.  Ann  llibbins,  tho  aged  widow  of 
a  morchant  of  note,  tho  reputed  sister  of  tho  l)i'i)Uty-tiovornor 
of  tho  Colony,  was  tried,  convicted,  and  sidl'erod  death  at  Unston 
in  tho  year  l(j.")(i  for  being  a  witch.  This  relationshi[)  by  blooil 
and  marriage  announces  a  person  of  superior  comlitiou  in  life, 
ami  not  some  wret(;he(l  and  friendless  hag  su(!h  as  is  associated 
with  tho  popular  idea  of  a  witch.  It  supiiosos  her  to  have  had 
connections  powerful  enough  to  protiM-t  her  in  such  an  extremity 
as  that  of  life  or  death  in  whicii  she  was  placed.  Ihit  in  her 
case  it  is  clear  that  they  wore  powerless  t(j  stay  the  linal  execu- 
tiun  nf  the  horrid  sentence,  which  was  carried  into  otlbct,  with 
all  its  revolting  details,  according  to  tho  decree  of  tho  Court. 

To  bo  censorious  is  easy  hero.  Such  a  tale  of  horror  is  in 
fact  a  shock  to  all  our  preconceived  notions  of  the  solid  wis- 
dom and  wolhbalanced  judgments  characterizing  our  ancient 
lawgivers.  Still,  when  kings  wrote  learned  treatises,  ministers 
preached,  and  poets  rhymed  about  it,  —  wIkmi  the  penal  statutes 
of  all  civilized  States  recognized  and  punished  it  as  a  crime,  — 
people  of  every  condition  may  well  l)o  jiardoned  for  j)utling  full 
faith  in  witchcraft  as  a  thing  belonging  to  the  category  of  in- 
contestable facts,  admitted  by  tho  wisest  and  holiest  men,  and 
punished  as  such  by  the  ordinances  of  God  and  man.  What  is  tho 
wonder,  then,  that  they  dealt  with  it  as  a  fact  ]  For  our  own 
part,  in  order  that  we  may  understand  this  deplorable  tragedy, 
and  that  full  justice  may  be  done  to  the  actors  therein,  it  is 
indispensable  first  candidly  to  admit  all  that  this  strange  be- 
lief in  witchcraft  implied  from  their  point  of  view.     AVe  may 


30 


ni:w-i:n(;lam»  li;(;i;ni)8. 


laiiK'iit  tlH'ir  iynoraiH'c,  l»ul  \vc  slimild  lie  .Aow  to  comlfiim  IIk^iii 
iur  lu'iiig  11(1  wisiT  tliaii  tlicir  nwn  j^fiu'raliuii. 

Sucli  a  .stuti!  (if  tliiiij^s  lu'lii;,'  iiiia;,'iii('(l,  oiu'  tuisily  hccs  why 
the  iiicii  wild  were  wisest  and  .slion^'i-.st  in  (fvory  otln-r  ciner- 
geiicy  Niiu[ily  I'l.-t  thiir  heads  when  cipiirrdiiliii;,'  this  teriiblo 
bil{,'lieai  that  l\c|it  ihi'  imajj;iiiati(>ii  cunl  iiiii;dly  iipnii  the  stivtch, 
that  was  a  linking'  tfi'i'tir  in  every  liniisehuld,  and  tliat  l»y  exi)08- 
iii;4  tlieiu,  as  tliey  fully  l)elieV('(l,  to  all  the  crafts  and  assault-,  of 
tii(!  Devil  (their  own  friends  and  nei;;hliois  hein;,'  thu  \nstiu- 
nu'Uls),  helil  their  intellect  in  ahject  Iwudaj^o.  Against  such 
insidious  attacks  as  these  there  was  no  ^odd  defunco.  lionet) 
the  notion  (if  a  witch  was  hke  that  of  a  SLM'pent  in  the  house 
whose  sting  is  mortal.  No  wonder  it  was  the  onu  thing  capable 
of  chasing  the  color 

Fieiii  cliccks  tli;it  never  cluuigod  ill  woe, 
Ainl  never  lihimiii'il  in  lear. 


Tliis  case  ol'  Mrs.  lliMiiiis  is  further  interesting  as  lieing  tho 
second  one  that  the  kinieiitahle  annals  of  witchcraft  record,  that 
of  Margaret  doiies,  in  I'llS,  lieing  thii  hrst.  The  simple  statts- 
nieiit  should  suilice  to  (torrect  the  belief,  more  or  less  preva- 
lent to-(lay,  that  the  Salcni  oii(br(\'\k  was  the  beginning,  instead 
of  being  the  tra.'^ical  eml.ofthe  (h'lusion  in  New  Englaml.  Mrs. 
Ililtbins's  canst!  is  also  nioniorable  as  the  first  known  instance  of 
tho  (Jeiieral  Court  of  the  Colony  sitting  in  trial  in  a  case'  of  lifo 
and  death.  The  tragoily,  theri'foro,  lacked  Jio  olement  of  sohmi- 
nity  to  render  it  deeply  impressive. 

iMrs.  Ann  Hibliins  was  the  wife  of  William  lfil)bins,  a  wealthy 
and  inlluential  nienhant  of  Uoston.  Hutchinson  says  that  he 
was  one  of  the  jirincipal  mt  h  luuits  in  all  tho  Colony.  At  this 
early  day  in  its  history  bo  had  served  the  Colony  with  credit, 
ilrst  as  its  agent  in  England,  and  again  as  one  of  tho  assistants, 
or  chief  magistrates.  These  important  trusts  denote  the  high 
esteem  in  which  hv,  was  hold,  and  they  conlirm  his  admitted 
capacity  for  public  all'airs.  A  series  of  unlucky  events,  however, 
hrought  such  heavy  losses  upon  him  in  his  old  age  as  seriously 


MISTIfKSS    ANN    IIIItlllNH. 


31 


to  iiij(i;ur  liis  cstiiU' ;  Imt  wliat  was  pcrliiips  wm-so  to  bear,  thr 
sudiluii  (•haii.^'c  iVuiu  allluciiri'  to  a  hkhv  .sliaitciml  way  cif  liviiij,' 
its  alli'j^cd  ii,,t  (iiily  to  have  sdiirod  his  wifo's  iiatiirally  uiistalilc 
tcniiHT,  Imt  tM  liavr  sn  far  iiiH.'ttl,.,|  Iut  iiiii„l  that  sh.t  h.(,aiii.' 
ill  turn  so  iiK.n.st!  and  .so  .iiiam-lsmnc  as  \n  iciKhr  Imt  ..dious 
t(.  all  her  nci-ldinrs.  fnslcad  ,,f  h,.ii,ir  Holtmcd  hy  iiiislortiiiic, 
slic  was  hardened  mid  eiulntteivd  hy  it.  And  it  is  thnuoht  that 
some  ..r  these  nei-hl)()rs  were  led  to  denounce  Iier  as  a  witch,  as 
presently  they  did.  tliroii-h  motives  of  spito,  or  in  ivvmgo  for 
her  malice  t(,\vard.  or  iter  almsive  treatment  of.  them. 

It  was  a  ( redidous  ai;e,  wdieii  tho  spirit  of  perseeutiim  was 
easily  aroused.  Tlu^  eye  of  th(^  wh(,le  town  was  presently  turiKsd 
upon  Mis.  llihhins.  There  is  little  r,,„m  to  ih.uht  that  she  was 
the  uid'nrluiiatc  possessor  of  a  sharp  ton>,'ue  and  of  a  crahhed 
temper,  neither  of  which  was  nndcr  pK.per  restraint.  Mo.st 
unfoitunately  inr  her,  as  it  fell  out,  a  superior  intelli;.'eniv  and 
penetration  enabled  her  to  make  shrewd  giie.s.ses  ahout  her 
iiei-idiors  and  thi'ir  alfairs,  which  the  old  wives  and  ,<,'ossips  he- 
lieveil  and  declared  n..  one  el.se  hut  tJic  hevil  or  his  imps  conhl 

have   known   or  told   ;...,■  of.      Fioni    <lishkc    (hey  advaii 1   to 

haired,  thill  I.)  fear,  and  then  it  no  doiiht  hc-aii  to  he  Hvely 
whispered  ahout  that  she  was  a  witch.  Such  a  reputation  would 
naturally  cast  a  fatal  blight  over  lier  life.  No  wife  or  iiiolher 
helieve.l  herself  or  her  infant  for  one  numieiit  .safe  from  the 
witch's  detestahle  arts,  since  .she  nii^jht  take  any  form  she 
pleased  to  aillict  Iheiu.  Prosontly,  the  idle  .L;(issip  of  a  nei.^h- 
horhood  grew  into  a  formal  accu.satioii.  How  much  could  he 
made  in  those  days  of  a  litth',  or  how  dangerous  it  thou  was  to 
exercise  any  gift  likts  that  of  clairvoviince  (tr  mind-reading,  the 
following  fragment  will  make  dear  to  the  reader's  mind.  Upon 
this  |)oint  Mr.  lieach.  a  minister  in  Jamai.a,  writes  to  J)r.  Increase 
Mather  as  f  illows  :  — 

"You  may  reiiuiiilur  what  J  have  sometimes  told  ymi  your  funious 
Jfr.  Xorton  oiicc  said  at  his  own  tahh-,  before  Mr.  Wilson  the  pastor, 
Eldei  Peiiii,  and  mys-lf  and  wife,  etc.,  who  had  the  honour  to  he  his 
guests, —that  one  of  your  magi.strates' wives,  as   I   remember,  was 


i 


EXECUTION  OF  MllS.   UIBBINS. 


h 


MISTKKSS    ANN    IIIIUIINH.  I!.. 

limimMl  li)r  a  witi'li,  iiiily  Im  liaviii;,'  mniv  wii  lliaii  licr  iiri;,'lilii)Ui's. 
It  wiw  his  vi'iy  fXiM't'SHioii,  -lie  lia\  iiij,',  as  ho  uxphiiiii-d  it,  uiiliapiiilv 
j^iU'.ssi'd  that  two  of  her  iicrsiMiiluis,  \vhi)m  s\\r  muw  tallviii^'  in  tin- 
Mtii'ct,  wiTi!  talking'  of  hi.T  ;  which,  |in)viii^'  Inn.',  cost  her  her  lili', 
iiDtwitlistaiuliii^'  all  ht-  cuuUl  do  to  thu  coiitiary,  us  lu-  hiinncU'  told 
us." 

Out'  call  liimlly  ivud  this  fiiij,'mt'iit  without  sliudilfrin^;. 

Tilt'  iiK'i'i'asiii.L,'  rKcliiii,'  id'  dftc^latinii  and  I'rar  liiiviii;,'  imw 
iu'okcii  out  into  a  popular  flaniui-  lor  justicu  upon  tlif  wit'ii, 
Mis.  Ilihhiiis  was  li  I  publicly  cxpclli'd  fVoiu  tlio  cDniiuuiiion  of 
lii'T  ciuuili.  ami  thi'U  publicly  accused  and  llirowii  iiiLn  prison. 
Wiicii  the  prison  door  d.i.si'il  licbind  her,  her  doom  was  scaled. 

Fortunately,  perhaps,  for  liini,  Ibr  lie  died  a  year  before  this 
l)itter  dis;^'raco  sullied  his  n'ond  nanu',  the  liusl)and  was  nut 
alivtf  to  meet  the  terrible  accusation  or  to  stem  the  tide  setting;  .so 
stronj^ly  and  >o  pitilessly  ai^'ainst  the  wife  whom  he  hail  sworn  at 
ihi'  altar  {<>  love,  elierisli,  and  protect.  If  ln'r  brt)lli(!r,  Kichanl 
liellin-liam,  then  holding  the  .second  placo  in  the  Colony,  mado 
any  (.'iroit  to  .save  her,  that  fact  nowhere  appears.  Iler  threo 
.sons,  whom  .-ilie  seems  to  have  loved  with  the  all'e<'tionate  teiider- 
iio.ss  of  a  fond  mother,  were  all  ab.sent  fidiu  the  Colony.  Alune, 
fiieiidlos,  an  object  of  hatred  to  her  own  neighbors,  her  heart 
muy  well  have  sunk  within  her. 

rndersuch  di.stressing  circiinistaiKu's  wus  poor  old  Dann^  Hil)- 
bins,  who  once  held  her  head  so  hi;^'h,  dragyed  from  her  iluiigeon 
l)efore  the  Court  which  was  to  try  her  as  the  worst  of  criminals 
known  to  the  law.  The  jury,  however,  failed  to  con\ict  her  of 
any  overt  act  of  witchcraft.  Hut  she  could  not  escape  thu.s. 
The  people,  it,  is  said,  demanded  her  blood,  and  nothing  short  of 
this  would  sati;:fy  them.  So  the  magistrates,  having  the  jiower 
to  .sot  aside  the  verdict,  obeying  the  pojjular  voice,  brought 
her  before  the  bar  of  the  ( Jeneral  Court,  where,  in  prcsonco  of 
the  a.ssembled  wisdom  of  the  Colony,  she  was  again  recjuired  to 
plead  guilty  or  not  guilty  to  being  a  witch.  She  answered  with 
lirmncss  and  spirit  that  she  was  not  guilty,  and  .said  she  was 
willing  to  be  tried  by  Cod  and  the  Court.  The  evidence  already 
taken  against  her  was  then  read,  witnesses  were  Injard,  und  her 


I 


'M 


N i;\v-KX( ;l.\ni)  legknds. 


ansM'ers  coiisidorcd  ;  ami  the  whole  case  l)ciii;^'  llicn  subiiiitted  ior 
its  (locision,  tlie  Court  by  its  vote  this  time  I'tiiind  hvv  yuiUy 
of  witchcraft  according  tn  the  tenor  of  tlii'  hill  of  imlictment. 
Governor  Endicott,  rising  in  liis  place,  then  pronounced  in  open 
court  the  awful  sentence  of  (h-ath  upon  the  (IoouhhI  woman  for 
a  crime  which  had  no  existence  save  in  the  imagination  of  her 
accusers.  The  warrant  for  her  execution  was  made  out  in  due 
form,  the    fata)    di.y    was    tixed,  and   the   marshal-general  was 


■ 


THE   OLD   ELM. 

therein  directed  to  take  with  him  "a  Sufficient  guard."  Then 
the  jioor,  infirm,  superannuated  old  woman,  as  innocent  as  tlu^ 
babe  unborn,  was  led  back  to  prison  a  condemned  felon.  Then 
the  members  of  the  Great  and  General  Co  art,  satisfied  that  they 
had  done  God's  work  in  hanging  a  witch,  dispersed  in  peace 
to  their  homes,  made  more  secure,  as  they  believed,  by  this  act 
of  justice. 


MISTRESS   ANN   IIIBHIXS.  35 

As  (1,0  .,.,„,,,.„  ,v„s  not  ,.;nTi...l  into  ..llect  fnr  a  whole  veu-  if 
;i';;;.M'Y'''-<   'in.  intercession  of  ft,en^ 

.•::;.  :^.:ft;.-;:,;;::r;,*:-t-;',::;;-^ 

t JhI J Z'^'nir''"™''''''"'^ ''''■'' "-' 

■miKtcd,    hut    iiuiie  were    f'oun,]       'ri„>    .. 

<-yJt  ,ivs  II.,,   1  "'■''■  "■''"  "■"'"'  ""'"■«>'  t"  «'« 


p 


36 


new-en<;lani)  lkcjends. 


MAKY    DYER. 


1659. 


!,  ; 


M 


IT  is  a  iiiattt'i'  (if  liislni'v  tliat  in  1  (!.")()  a  iiiMiplc.  who  W)Yr,  tlicir 
hair  \oi\'j:,  kfjit  their  hat>  nn  in  the  jmljlic  assemblies.  ^mkI 
wiin  .saiil  "thi'c"  ami  '•  tlmu,"'  iiistcaii  of  "  Vdii,"  whrn  .uldivss- 
iiig  anuthcr  persuii,  niailc  their  iinwclininc  a|i|iraiaiici'  in  New 
Kn.ulaml.  Tiicy  were  tnrliiwith  attari<c(l  with  all  ihr  cncruy  nl' 
a  hitter  iierseeiitiiin. 

When  ealli'il  n|Hiii  tu  speak  diit  in  ilejenee  nf  ihe'r  cruel 
pruL'eeilinus,  the  I'ui'itan  authdrities  dedareil  their  ereed  tn  lui 
this  :  'i'hey  having  established  tlieniselvi'.-  in  a  ^\•illlerness  in 
order  to  enjoy  umlistiirbed  their  own  religious  convictions.  Ik  Id 
it  right  to  exclude  all  others  who  might  seek  to  introdni'e  dil- 
i'ereiit  opinions,  and  therefore  discord,  among  them.  l'"i'iim  this 
it  is  plain  to  see  that  the  idea  of  toleration  had  not  yet  been 
born,  'i'he  finlher  fact  that  to  this  ci'Uel  and  s.'lhsh  policy, 
sternly  i>er.severed  in  to  the  last,  the  ('olonyoweil  the  loss  of 
mo.st  of  the  political  privileges  that  it  had  hitherto  enjoyed, 
renders  it  one  of  tin;  stei)ping-stones  of  history.  Nor  Jiave  the 
most  zealous  apologists  for  the.se  acts  of  the  Puritan  lathers  ever 
been  able  to  era.se  the  stain  of  bhjod  from  their  otherwi.se  fair 
eseutcheun. 

Let  us  recount  a  single  startling  episode  of  this  lugul)rious 
history.     Two  words  will  e.\i)lain  the  situation. 

On  both  sides  of  the  ocean  the  Pui'itan  cry  was  '•  freedom  to 
worship  God  as  we  do."  The  ])er.secution  of  (j>uukers  had 
already  begun  in  England  under  the  austere  rule  of  the  Puritan 
Commonwealth.  They  were  treateil  as  weak  fanatics  who 
nceiled  whole.some  correction,  rather  than  as  persons  dangerous 
t.,  the  public  weal.  After  this  had  been  sonu;  time  in  progress, 
some  of  the  jiersecuted  Friends  came  over  to  New  JCnglanJ  for 


I 


!     ■■:) 


I 


Lriiu*' 


m.m;v  iivi;i;. 


■M 


all  asyliii'i,  or  out  oi'  the  tVvin.Lriiaii  into  tin'  liro.  'I'lic  Incul 
aiitliiiiitics,  ur^'i'il  (111  liy  tin'  wliulc  Imdy  of  Ortliodox  iniiiistors, 
ri'solvcd  to  .strangle  this  new  Iicicsy  in  its  cnidlt'.  I'ut  they 
had  f'(ii';4iiitrii  the  sl<pi'v  nf  tin'  dragon's  tt'cth.  I''(ir  cvivy  (jMiakcr 
thry  l)aiiish('d,  ten  amsc  in  liis  place. 


St(jrK(iii(i    A    QIAKKK. 

Among  the  first  (jluakcrs  to  arrive  in  the  Colony  were,  two 
Avonion.  And  it  should  lio  observed  tliat  the  women  all  along 
took  as  active  a  part  in  disseminating  the  new  doctrines  as  the 


38 


^'I•:^v-K^'(;I,ANI>  likjiinds. 


, 


'i| 


I!      'lil 


i 


iiicii  (lid.      As  was  iiiovitiiblo,  such  an  alirujil  iiiiuiviiUdii   u]inii 
tlio  st'ttlcil   cniivii'tkiiis  (if  till'  liiiif  I't'sjK'cliiiL;'  woinaii's   place   in 
the  duu'clu's  and  in  .Sbvifty,  was  a  lUdial  .shuck  to  the  cuniniii 
iiity  which  quickly  rccuih  d  uiion  the  heads  o{'  the  dU'endi  is. 

These  inlmdin;4  (i>iiakcrs,  having  announced  themselves  as 
confessors  and  missionaries  of  the  true  faith  of  (Jhrist,  were  all 
presently  put  under  lock  and  key  as  persons  guilty  of  promul- 
gating raidv  heresies,  and  as  blasi)heniers,  and  theii'  sectaiiaii 
books  Avere  idso  seized  and  conimitteil  to  the  tlames  by  the 
connnon  hangman.  The  (,)uakers  then  became  violent  and 
aggressive  in  their  turn.  J'hey  retaliateil  with  ]irophesies  of 
evil.  They  freely  denounced  the  judgments  of  Heaven  upon 
their  oppressors.  One  wuiuan,  seeing  ( loveinor  Mndicult  jiass 
by  the  prison,  vociferated  from  her  grate(l  wiinlow,  — 

"  AVoe  unto  thee  !  thou  art  an  oppressor  !  " 

'i'he  lirst  comers  were  all  banishe(l,  with  a  stern  admonitiim 
not  to  return  ti)  the  ("ohjiiy.  They  were  put  on  shipboard  and 
ordered  to  dejiart.  And  this,  it  was  hope(l,  would  be  the  last  of 
them.  This  was,  in  fact,  the  easiest  way  of  ridding  the  coun- 
try of  them  and  their  errors,  had  these  not  already  taken  rout 
in  the  soil  itself.  'J'hen,  as  no  such  law  existe(l,  one  avms  made, 
punishing  any  Quaker  avIio  might  afterward  eonie  into  t!ie 
jurisdiction.  This  law  imposed  severe  jienalties.  Yet,  though 
cruelly  enforced,  it  was  soon  found  inadeipiate,  the  nundicr  of 
Quakers  increasing;  and  so,  the  antlun'ities  l)eing  now  at  tlieir 
wits'  end,  another  hiw,  decreeing  death  to  any  of  that  sect  who 
should  presume  to  retiuii  after  banishment,  was  enacted,  against 
strong  ojjposition.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  conscience  in  the  Colo- 
nial l)ody.  Ihit  the  rulers  could  not  now  retreat  witliout  admitting 
themselves  van(|uisli(!d  ;  and  so,  pressing  the  point,  the  "  bloody 
law  "  was  inscribed  upon  the  statute-book  of  the  Colony. 

We  have  now  finished  the  prologue  of  the  drama,  aiul  it  is 
time  to  introduce  the  real  actors  upon  the  stage. 

Mary  Dyer,  a  comely  and  grave  matron,  tlien  living  in  llhode 
Island,  was  one  of  those  rare  spirits  who  are  i)redestinctl  to 
become  martyrs  and  saints  to  the  faith  that  they  profess. 


I  111 


MAHV    |)V1:K. 


:19 


Slii;  iiiid  her  hiisliiiuil,  Williiiiii  DyiT,  were  uriginally  inluibi- 
tants  of  Jju-stoii,  luid  incinbL'r.s  ui  tin;  clninli  lliiTf,  they  having 
{'.mi,i;rutril  from  JOii,i,'luii(l  to  the  ('dloiiy  in  the  yvav  l(i;5j.  From 
tliesu  iiieidt'iits  siirruiiiidiiig  Mr.s.  Oyer's  caretir  it  is  clear  tliat 
both  she  ami  hrr  husbaml  lu'longcd  to  tbi-  Imttor  class  of  emi- 
grants. She  is  represented  by  Hewei,  the  (,tuak(r  Jiislurian,  as 
beiii.tj  a  person  of  good  I'amily  and  estate,  and  liy  Winthrop  as 
ca  very  proper  and  fair  woman,  l)iit,  as  he  ile|)recatingly  adds, 
having  a  "  very  i)roiid  spirit."  In  her,  therefore,  we  have  the 
portrait  of  a  comely  woman  of  line  [uv.seneo,  higli  .spirit,  a  fair 
share  of  edneation,  and  po.sse.ssing,  moreover,  a  sonl  emlowed 
with  the  puiiiose  iif  an  evangelist  <ir,  at  nc'ed,  a  martyr,  lloth 
Mrs.  J  »yer  and  her  husband  bi'came  (;arly  converts  to  the  pe(;u- 
liar  doctrines  held  by  that  [iriestess  of  coiinuon-sense,  Mrs. 
Anne  Hutchinson,  to  whose  untoward  fortunes  they  eontinuiul 
.steadfast.  There  Avas,  in  fict,  a  bond  of  sympathy  between 
these  two  women.  When  Mrs.  Hutchinson  was  excommuni- 
cated, young  Mrs.  I)yer  walke(l  out  of  the  church  with  her  in 
presence  of  the  whole  congregation.  AVhen  she  was  banished, 
Mr.s.  Dyer  followed  her  to  Rhode  Island.     This  was  in  1(!.*57. 

During  the  e.\citi!UU'nt  produced  by  the  rapid  spread  of  ^Irs. 
Hutchinson's  opinions,  and  by  her  sub.seipient  arrest  and  trial  on 
tile  cliarge  of  heresy,  Mrs.  Dyer  gave  premature  birth,  it  was  said, 
(oa  monster,  which  Vrinthrop  describes  with  nauseating  nunute- 
ness.  Losing  sight  of  Mrs.  Dyer  for  nearly  twenty  years,  we 
suppo.se  her  life  to  have  been  an  uneventful  one.  —  perhaps  one 
of  unc^in.scious  preparation  and  of  spiritual  growth  for  the  work 
she  was  to  do  and  the  sutfering  she  was  destined  to  undergo. 
"When  we  next  see  her,  the  comely  young  wife  has  beooiue  a 
middle-aged  matron,  who  is  blindly  obeying  the  command  of  des- 
tiny. She  now  presents  herself  in  the  garl)  of  a  Quakeress,  and 
in  company  with  professing  Quaker-s,  to  the  people  of  Bo.ston, 
any  one  of  whom,  by  harboring  her  even  for  a  single  night,  or 
offering  her  a  crust  of  bread,  became  a  breaker  of  the  law,  and 
was  liable  to  a  heavy  penalty  for  so  doing.  .She  was  imme- 
diately taken  u])  and  thrust  into  the  common  jail,  wdiere  she 


^ 


I 


40 


new-enc;laxi)  legends. 


Ill 


.w  I 


111  '1 1 1 


roraiiined  in  ronfiiioniont  until  licr  liiishund,  l)L'inf^  apprisod  of 
III!!'  arrest,  hastened  to  lier  relief.  His  urgent  prayer  for  liis 
■wife's  release  was  otdy  grantisd  upon  liis  giving  bonds  in  a  largo 
sum  to  take  licr  r.way  out  of  the  Colony,  and  even  then  tlu! 
authorities  fiirtlu"'  stipulated  that  she  shoidd  he  pernnlted  to 
speak  with  no  oU"  during  the  journey.  I'pon  these  conditions 
she  was  etinduettd  under  guard  l)eyond  the  settli'inents. 

In  Septendjer,  IC>')\},  in  company  with  Wilham  Rohinson, 
Marmaduko  Steven.son,  and  Nicholas  Davi.'*,  Maiy  again,  and 
this  time  with  full  knowledge  of  tiie  pciil  of  the  act,  visited 
Boston  for  the  puriiose  (»f  testifying  against  the  iniquitous  laws 
in  force  there,  or,  as  they  declared  it  themscdves,  "to  look  tiie 
bloody  laws  in  the  face,"  autl  to  meet  the  oppressors  v{  her 
])eople,  as  it  were,  in  their  own  stronghold. 

Short  was  the  time  allowed  them.  The  whole  four  were 
quickly  made  prisoners,  and  were  brought  before  the  Court, 
which  passed  sentence  of  banishnuiut,  to  which  the  certain 
penalty  of  death  now  attachcid,  should  they  return  again.  They 
were  then  released,  and  ordered  to  depart  out  of  the  Colony.  Not 
obeying  this  mandate,  I{(d)inson  and  Stevenson  were  soon  again 
appreliended,  and  were  again  consigned  to  prison,  where  they  werc^ 
used  like  condemned  felons,  being  chained  to  the  floor  of  their 
dungeon.  Within  a  month  ^lary  also  luM'amo,  for  the  second 
time,  an  inmate  of  the  same  prison,  having  been  recognized  and 
taken  while  standing  in  front  of  it.  J'>y  thus  .setting  the  law  at 
defiance,  the  trio  wore  regarded  as  rushing  upon  a  iovVs  fate. 

AVith  Mary  came  Ifopo  Clifton,  also  of  llhodo  Islanch  The 
declared  ])urposo  of  the  women  was  to  visit  and  minister  to  the 
Friends  then  lying  in  jirison.  The  settled  purpose  of  the  ]»ris- 
oners  to  defy  the  law  being  known  to  their  friends,  and  no 
mercy  being  expected  for  them,  several  of  these  came  to  Boston 
in  order  to  assist  in  the  last  act  of  the  tragedy.  Ojie  even 
brought  linen  for  the  sufferers'  shrouds.  All  this  imparts  a 
highly  dramatic  character  to  tlu;  acts  of  the  resolute  martyrs. 

The  three  prisoners  Avho  had  thus  forfeited  their  lives  to  the 
law  were,  on  the  20th  of  October,  brought  before  the  C(Airt  of 


M.MIV   i»vi:i{. 


41 


>r;ij^istriitos.  TIio  inc(irriii)lililc  Imt  iiiiiil!xc;il)lo  Endimtl  prc- 
si(I<"(l.  TIk!  iiicu  keciiiug  their  hats  uii,  Kii<lic(itt  onlorcd  the 
oliicer  t(.  [iiiU  tlic'in  nil'.  \lii  then  iulihvsscd  tlic  prisoiu-rs  in  (ho 
^'l"o^^aJ,^•  (.fsti.Tii  iviiioiistnuici!  iiiid  rein'ool'.  Ilo  told  the  i  tliiit 
ncitlier  he  imr  the  other  iiiii,^i.stratc,s  tiieii  i)resciit  (h'.siivd  tlieir 
(loath,  l)iit  tliat  tht^  laws  niiist  l)e  enforced.  All  three  were  Cdu- 
demned  to  he  han^^ed. 

Mi'.s.  Dyer  heard  her  dunm  jironounced  witli  serene  comj)osure, 
simply  sayiiij/,  — 

"  The  Lord's  will  he  done  '.  " 

"Take  her  away,  marshal,"  conimandijd  Kudicott,  impa- 
tiontly. 

"  I  joyrully  retnrn  to  my  prison,"  she  rejoined. 

On  her  way  Imek  to  prison,  iilled  with  the  exaltation  of  the 
Spirit,  she  said  to  the  marshal,  or  liigh-sheriii',  Avho  was  cundiict- 
ing  her,  "  Indeed,  you  might  let  me  alone,  for  I  would  go  to  the 
prison  without  you." 

"I  hclicve  you,  Mrs.  l»yer,"  the  ollieer  replied;  "hut  my 
orders  are  to  take  y.)U  there,  and  I  must  do  as  I  am  eom- 
mandcd." 

During-  the  interval  uf  a  week  occurring  hetween  the  sen- 
tence and  the  day  fixed  lor  its  execution,  Mrs.  Dyer  wrote  an 
"Appeal  to  the  (leiieral  Court,"  in  Avhich  she  cnmpares  herself 
witli  Queen  Esther,  and  her  missidu  with  that  of  the  i[Ueen  to 
Ahasuerus  It  is  pervaded  throughout  hy  a  simple  and 
touching  dignity.  There  is  not  one  craven  word  in  it,  or  one 
entreating  i)ardon  or  expressing  a  doubt  of  the  righteousness  of 
her  own  acts.  Calmly  she  rehearses  the  history  of  her  case, 
and  then  concludes  her  appeal,  "  in  love  and  the  spirit  of  meek- 
ness," to  the  justice  and  magnanimity  of  the  Court  which  Avas 
able  to  set  her  free.  J5ut  if  it  was  heeded,  her  prayer  was 
unanswered.  The  renewed  and  earnest  intercession  of  Mrs. 
Dyer's  husband  and  son  were  alike  inetfeetual ;  the  magistrates 
remained  unmoved.  But  it  is  said  that  the  son,  in  the  hope 
of  yet  saving  her,  passed  the  last  night  in  his  mother's  cell, 
beseeching  h(.'r  to  abjure,  or  at  least  so  far  to  retract  her  mis- 


42 


NKW-KMii.ANii  i.i;(;i:niis. 


^  II 


■ 


lllll  :ll! 


titkcii  (i|iiiiiciiis  us  til  ^ivi'  soiui'  cliancr  I'm'  linjn'   tliat  tln'  juili^cs 

iiii.i^lit  yet  I'l'lt'iit,  mill  .so  I'diniuiitc  lirr  M'littiK 1'  ilcatli  tu  liaii- 

isliiiii'iit.      IlislDiy   lias  kiinlly  tlrawii   tlic  veil   over  this  scoiiu. 
All  wr  know  is  that  the  iiinihrr  prclirrcd  dcalh  In  ilishdiiiH'. 

Nor  were  ollid'  (jf- 
t'oits  waiitin;4  to  savo 
I  111'  toiHlciiuicd  prison- 
ers. Suitors  who  wen- 
ahli'  to  iiiaki'  tliciu- 
si'lvcs  ln-anl  ill  tlio 
(•ouiicil-chainbt'r  and  in 
th''  (iovcriior's  I'IdSL't 
fariicslly  lalioicd  tu 
lavvciil  llic  coiisuiiima- 
tioii  of  the  criiiic. 

On  'i'hur.-day,  ih.- 
L'Ttli  of  ( )ctol)('r,  in  the 
iiioriiin,!.',  accordiii.u  to 
an  aiicifiit  custoin,  the 
driiuiiiicisof  ihr  trained 
hands  Ileal  their  drums 
up  and  down  the 
streets,  to  notify  the 
soldiers  to  j^et  under 
arms.  This  beini^  the 
tiiiiedionorod  k'tituriv 
(lay,  which  was  also  tlie  one  usually  appointed  for  lioldinj,'  jiul)- 
lic  ext'dutions,  as  soon  as  tlie  i»ul)li(!  worship  wa.s  over,  the  drums 
wore  iigain  licanl,  the  trained  liands  assembled  and  funned  in 
order,  and  were  then  marched  to  tli(!  prison,  where  they  halted. 
'J'heii  the  high-sheriif,  exhibitine'  his  warrant,  called  for  the 
bodies  of  the  prisoners  by  uaine,  their  irons  weri'  kno(;ked  off  by 
the  jailer,  and,  after  tenderly  einbracini^'  each  other,  they  were 
led  forth  to  take  their  places  in  the  ranks  of  the  ,e;uard,  Mary 
being  placed  l)etween  the  two  men  who  Avere  to  suH'er  with  her. 
A  great  multitude  had  assembled  to  witness  these  solemn  pro- 


ll.VM)    KKKL. 


!:li 


.M.\i;v  HYKK. 


43 


ceciling.s.  Tiir  proccs.^iKH  ihcn  incivnl,  tlic  inisniicis  on  I'nnt, 
tlic  i)uui)li'  pivs^iii;;-  cldst'ly  iiruuml  Ihcin,  in  nV'lrv  iinl  tu  Insc  u 
Wdi'd  i)f  wliiit  tlicy  iiiinlil  siiy  ;  l)iit  wiiciicvci'  tlic  cniKlcmiaHl 
att(Mii|itL'(l  to  sjK'iik,  us  now  iiinl  tlicii  llii-y  did,  the  dnininici',s 
wvvv  oiilcifd  to  beat  tlirir  dnuns,  and  .so  drowned  thu  voices  in 
the  upi'iiir.  One  sees  iierc,  as  always,  tliat  every  tyranny  i.s 
aliaid  of  its  victims.  Ileniined  in  liy  armed  men,  and  sur- 
rounded \>\  a  snr;;in^'  ami  uxcili'd  throiiLr,  llie  prisoners  walked 
liand  in  hand  all  the  way  to  the  scatlold,  su))])oitin,i,'  and  com- 
l'urlin;4  each  lUhcr  in  this  niost^  tryiiiLf  moment  with  u  suhlinic 
fortitude.  The  luutal  marslud,  seeing;  this,  said  .siieerin>;ly  to 
Mary  :  "  An;  you  not  asiiamed,  you,  to  walk  thus  hand  in  hand 
hetween  two  youiiy  men  (" 

rnmoved  liy  the  taunt,  she  replied  ;  "  \o  ;  this  is  to  me  an 
hour  of  the  j;i('atest  joy  I  cuuhl  have  in  this  world." 

The  fiir/ri/c  Iiavini,'  at  length  reached  the  place;  of  exocution, 
it  havinu  marched  hy  a  roundabout  way, — -foi'fcar,  it  is  said, 
that  a  rescue  mi-ht  b(;  attempted,  —  Mary  and  her  follow  sidl'orcrs 
bill  each  other  a  last  farewell.  Kobinson  lirst  a.scende(l  tiie  fatal 
iadiler.  While  uttering  bis  dyin,^■  wonls,  predictin.i,'  a  visitation 
of  divine  wrath  to  come  ujjuii  bis  slayers,  a  harsh  voice  in  the 
crowd  cried  out:  "Hold  thy  tongue!  Thou  art  going  to  die 
with  a  lie  in  thy  mouth  !  " 

Stevenson's  last  Words  wei'c  tbese  : '•  He  it  known  unto  all, 
this  day,  that  wi;  suH'er  iiot  as  evil-docis,  but  for  conscience' 
sake." 

It  w;'s  now  Mary's  turn.  Her  two  dear  friends  wore  hanging 
dead  1  •  ue  bcr  eyes.  Fearlessly  she  mounted  the  fatal  ladder, 
and  fcarles.sly  .she  .submitted  herself  to  the  hangman's  hands. 
She  Avas  then  ]iinioneil,  blindfoldeih  and  the  fatal  nooso  i)laced 
about  lier  neck.  All  being  then  ready,  the  crowd  awaited  the 
la.st  act  in  breathless  suspense,  when  in  the  distance  a  voice  was 
lieard  crying  out,  "  Stop  I  She  is  reprieved  I  " 

Tiie  agitation  of  the  spo(;tators  is  something  that  wi;  can  only 
faintly  conceive.  ]]ut  Mary,  it  is  said,  remained  calm  and 
unmoved  through  it  all.     ''  Tier  feet  being  loosed,"  says  Sowel, 


I 


44 


NKW-KNCLANh    LKCKNUS. 


••  lliuy  l)iiik)  licr  cniuc  dciwii.  Hiil  she,  wliosc  iniiul  wiis  iilnudy 
as  it  wi'i'c  ill  licavcii,  .stood  still,  and  said  siu'  was  liicrc  willing' 
to  sull'tT  as  \'vv  liivtlnvii  ilid,  uiilcsa  tlicy  woidd  annul  tlicir 
wicki'd  law."  She  was  then  taken  down  IVoiii  tlu^  scidl'old  and 
re-coiiducti'd  to  juison,  wlicro  Iut  huh,  who  waH  an.viously  await- 
in^t,'  lit!!'  I'ctnin,  endtrart'd  lior  as  one  ri.-<i'n  I'loni  tlio  dead.  <  Mily 
then  .she  learned  that  to  his  inniortunity  with  the  maj^'istrate.s 
she  owed  her  deliveranee  tVnni  the  late  of  her  linthi'eii.  The 
soil  had  .saveil  his  mother.  'I'Ik^  death-seiitonee  h,id  heeii  cdni- 
ninted  to  lianishineiil  ;  Imt  .Mary  now  received  a  solemn  wiiinin^' 

to  the  elleet   that    tli(^   extreme    |ieiialty  woidd   surely  1 \aelrd 

.should  she  a;4ain  olleiid  a^'ainst  the  majesty  of  the  law.  She 
wa.s  then  eondueteil  under  <;uard  to  the  (..'olouy  I'roiitier,  wlieiiee 
elio  pursued  her  \.ay  home  to  llhodc  Islam!. 

I'lUl  the  old  im|iiils('  reviving  in  her  in  lull  i'orec,  in  dejianco 
of  the  waniiii;.;  thriee  repeated,  Mary  a^^ain  sought  to  ohtaiii  tho 
crown  of  martyrdom  to  which  she  \'ns  foreordained.  IhiiiiiuL,' 
with  fanatical  zeal,  re;^ardk'ss,  too,  of  the  conditions  which  had 
procured  the  remission  of  her  .sentence,  .she  delil)eralely  violated 
tho  law  again.  In  May,  IGtiO,  the  unfortunate  woman  had  .so 
little  regard  for  her  ])er.soual  .safety  as  iinaiii  to  como  to  "the 
Woody  town  of  Hoston."  She  wa.s  soon  summoned  hcfore  the 
(ieiieral  Court.  Swift  was  tho  judgment,  swift  the  exe(Mition. 
Kudicott,  indeed,  —  respect  to  his  manhood  for  it!  —  oll'ered 
hor  a  chance  of  escape  ;  but  lier  soul  was  too  lofty,  her  puriiose 
too  stron,!,dy  Hxed,  to  avail  her.self  of  a  suliteifuge  to  .save  her 
life.  I'liidicott  conducted  her  examination.  He  was  as  hard  as 
iron,  she  j,'entlo  l)ut  undaunted. 

"  Are  you  the  same  ^Sfary  Dyer  that  was  here  before  1 "  he  began. 

"  I  am  tho  .same  ^Mary  I'yer  that  was  here  at  the  last  (Jeneral 
Court,"  she  replied. 

"Then  you  own  yourself  a  Quaker,  do  you  not?"  .said  the 
CJovenior. 

"  1  own  myself  to  l)e  reproachfully  called  so." 

Then  the  jailer  spoke;  up  and  said  that  Mary  was  a  vaga- 
bond. 


M.VltY    DYKU. 


45 


"  I  murtt  thru  nipfiit  tlif  .suntenct)  oiu-f  bulort!  proiiouncoil 
iilKiii  you,"  siiiil  KiiiUi.'ntt.  • 

Miiry  i|iiii'ily  ifjnimMl  :  "  Tliiit   is  lU)  nmiv  tli;ui  wliiit  tliuii 

.siliilsl  1  It'll 'M'.' 

"Tnif,"  .siiiil  KiKlicnU  .sternly,  "  l)Ul  i\n\\  il  is  to  hf,  rxi-ciiliMl  ; 
tlicrt'lnitj  incpaiv  yourscli'  I'nr  niiii!  u'clncli  ti)-iiiiirri)\v." 

Mary  tln-n  bui^aii  to  speak  of  liei  call,  wli.'ii  tiie  (JoveiiK.r 
l)iii'st  out  with,  — 

"  Away  Willi  her!  away  with  her  !  " 

In  ^Mvat  an-uish  of  iiiin.l,  he  heiii-  wholly  i^'uoraiit  tliat  >he 
uietiitate.l  this  fatal  step,  her  liusiiaii.l  wmle  l,i  tiie  (leueral 
(\)urt  of  Massachusetts,  ouet;  more  iinpliTiiij,'  its  i  leineiiey. 
His  entroatiud  wnul.l   have  ninvetl  a  sloiic  in  pity.      Ihit  it  vas 

IKiW  too  late.  Oil  the  lirst  (lay  "\'  .luUe  the  ^olelUll  eerellK.ui  'S 
><['  the  previous  October  were  repeateil.  The  si:atl'nl.|  was 
urecteil  on  Boston  CoUiUioii  a  hmad  area  of  unoccupied  laml 
aiijoiniu','  the  town,  then  usimI  hy  tiie  iiihahitants  in  comiiiona,i,'e, 
and  on  muster-days  us  ii  trainin-'lield,  a.-  well  as  fnr  the  place 
of  liuhlic  execiitiiiii. 

At  tho  appoiiite.l  hour  the  manshal  came  fur  hor,  and  eiiter- 
iii.t^  without  eeivliioiiy  the  cell  where  she  was,  he  r()U;4hly  hade 
hur  make  haste.  Muy,  speaking  to  him  mihlly,  asked  a  few 
momonts'  ilelay,  saying  that  she  wuuhl  he  ready  presently.  lUit 
he  rudely  and  unfeelingly  retorted  that  it  was  her  place  to  wait 
upon  him,  and  not  his  upon  lii'r.  'riieii  one  of  the  female  pris- 
oiKU's,  with  the  instinct  of  hor  sex,  ventured  to  exjiostulate  with 
this  l)rutal  functionary,  when  he  turned  upon  her  liercely,  and 
with  threats  and  abuse  silenced  her.  In  fact,  the  C^uakerivs.ses 
wore  treated  like  vagabonds  and  outea.st.s. 

The  authorities  having  reason  to  fear  a  jiopular  tumult,  tho 
prisoner  was  taken  strongly  guarde.il  over  a  circuitous  route  to 
the  fatal  spot,  and  again  her  voice  was  silenced  by  the  rattle  of 
drums  before  and  Ijehind  lu'r.  With  the  birds  innocently  twit- 
tering aliove  her  heatl,  unco  more  Mary  ascended  tho  scall'old 
with  a  lirm  stop.  Pity  was  not  wholly  extinct.  Some  of  tho 
people;  present  made  a  last  ollort  to  .save  her,   but  :Mary  would 


"T 


M 


46 


NKW-KN<ILAM»   LliCK.NHH. 


k)l 


nut  n^Toci  to  Icuvo  tlit!  ('(tuiiliy.  Tn  tin'  lin|H'  moiuo  cxiims.opd 
that  licr  lil'i'  wmild  In-  ii;j,aiii  >i»aivil,  lliti  ulliccr  ('niimiaiuliii;,' 
tlic  aniii'il  fscnit  rmi^lily  rcturtcil  that  sliu  was  ;4iiilly  ol'  lici' 
own  lilood. 

"  Nay,"  sill'  rrplicd,  "  I  caiin'  In  Uit|i  l)l(Mjd;,'iiikiiii'ss  I'miii 
ynii,  dcsiriiij,'  ydii  \n  ir|pral  till'  uiiii.;liti'iiiis  and  iinjii.^l  law  ni  idi' 
a>;aiii>t  tlio  innocent  servants  of  the  Lord." 

Mr.  Wilson,  nnnister  nf  liostim,  allendi  il  her  nn  the  s.all'nld 
in  her  last  moments,  not  to  oiler  consdlaii'in,  hut  tn  exhort  iter 
to  rei-ant. 

"Maty  Jiyer,"  he  e\rlainied,  "nh,  repent!  i>\\,  repent!  lie 
not  so  deluded  ami  earried  aw.iy  liy  the  deet-its  of  the  I  )cvil  !  " 

Slie  answi'reil  him  in  terms  ol' mild  ri'iinml':  "Nay,  man,  I  am 
not  now  to  repent. " 

\  colloiiuy  liy  whiih  her  last  ninmeuls  were  eudiittered  was 
kept  Up  on  the  seailnld.  she  was  reproached  for  saying'  that 
she  had  heeii  in  |para.lise.  She  reiterated  it.  "  Ves,"  said  this 
undaunted  woman.  "I  have  hecii  in  paradise;  several  days." 

The  executioner  then  iierloruieil  his  ollice. 


TIIK    KING'S   MISSIVE. 


1661. 

"  CiiARi,r;s  J{. 

"Trusty  and  Welllieluved,  we  j,'reet  yon  well.  Having,'  l)een 
informed  that  several  of  our  Sulpjects  anion:,'  you,  called  (^)iiakers, 
have  lieen  and  aie  impiisoned  hy  you,  whereit'  some  have  lieen  exe- 
cuted, and  others  (as  liatli  heeu  rcpiesented  imto  us)  are  in  I)aiij,'er 
to  undergo  the  Like  :  We  have  tliou^'lit  fit  to  si^'iMl'v  our  I'leiisuru 
in  that  llelialf  for  the  future,  and  do  HMiuiro,  that  if  there  he  any  of 
those  jK'oplc  called  Quakers  amou,L;st  yo\i,  now  already  condenmed  to 
suffer  Death,  or  other  Corporal  I'unisliuieiil,  or  liiat  aie  imprisoned, 
or  ohuoxious  to  the  like  rouilemnatiou,  you  aic  to  forliear  to  ])roceed 
any  farther,  hut  that  ycai  foitiiwith  send  tlu'  said   I'ersoiis  (whether 


Tin:    KINiiS   MISHIVK. 


47 


I 


nill.lclillllil     111     illl|lli-Ml|,c|)     n\rV    |<>    Ihi^    •     Ki||;;il,,||i    ,,1'     I'Jl^^lallll, 

tiiHiili.r  Willi  ilirir  iispcdiw  <'iiiii<-ini()ir,.|irtw  liiiil  ii,  ili.iiCliaiM,', 
to  till-  Kml  Hiicli  CniiiH-  imiv  !..•  liikni  willi  tiM-iii  li.n,  us  ^Imll  !..■ 
n^fiv  alil.' li.  ..Ill-  Liiws  ami  llnir  D.'iinTit-.  AikI  \nv  >..  .h.iiii.'.  |l|,.,.e 
(llll•  l.rii.'i- .-li.ill  Im'  ymir  siilli,  inii  W^ninl  ainl  Disclmi-f.  (;ivcii 
"'  "III   <'"tiii   ill    Wliiirli.ill.  Ill,'  :ttli  .|,i\  111  Sr|.|,iiilM.r.  KKtl.  ill  llii> 

llliltrrlUll    VlMT  i>\'  (illf    llci-ll. 

'•Siil>Miil,r.l,  T 1-  'I'liiMy  ami  W.  Illn|,,vid  .Inlm  Kn.li,.,!,  |>,|.; 

ami  to  all  md  rwi y  uih,  i  ijin  (lovciiKmr  <>r  ( Jdvitihiiiim  (.1'  mir  j'laii- 

taliuli  .,r  Nr\v-Kli-lall(|,  an  I  n)'  I  lie  (',,!,, uirs  tllrlclllitu  ln'ioli^'ill;,',  lllllt 

iiMwair,  „r  lirnafirr  >.liall  l„.  :  Ami  l,.  all  ami  .•vciy  lli.^  Miiii>|,.|s 
ami  (Ulicns  of  ,,iir  siiil  I'laiitatioii  ami  Colnnk's  wliahvcr.  uiiliin 
till'  ( 'i)iiiiii(iil  (ij  N'i'U  -Kii;;!aml. 

•'  ily  His  Majesty's  ( 'niiiiiiaii(l. 

'•Wii,.   Moulds." 


rpiIlS  was  no  (-oiiiin.)ii  Ictt.-r  wlii.li  in  N.,VfiiiI,i.r,  jfini.  f,.)! 
_L  likr  a  lidirihslicll  into  (lie  \vi(l<.il  tuwu  ..1'  llostDii.  Jt  was 
cfitaiiily  ill)  alariiiiii-  iiiaiiircsto.  It  lifoii-lit  a  pnaid  and  si'ii- 
.sitivr  iicnpl,.,  uli,,  |,a,l  cfasiMl  to  pay  ivs|(cct  i,>  loyalty,  and 
had  almost  for-nitcii  its  tnniis,  (.nee  imnv  rmlcly  to  tlnir  knees. 
And  tliey  wciv^a  stern  race,  fearing  (;o(l  more  than  tln'V  hoiioivd 
th.>  Kin-  r.ii't  they  I'elt  the  shock  that  ha<l  Just  overthrown 
the  I'liritaii  Coiiimonwi'alth  ;  ami  the  Aoicc  which  ro8u  IVoin 
among  its  riiins.  (■(inimanding  tlieni  to  ohey,  ssoiuidcd  at  the 
moment  in  their  ears  very  miidi  like  thc^  voice  of  ( lod. 

Continiicil  encroachment  upon  the  prerogative  of  the  throne 
liad  (lonhtless  much  t..  do  with  ordering  their  destiny,  —  possi- 
bly as  much  as  had  the  cruelties  jjractised  toward  the  olfending 
Qnakors,  to  whose  prayers  for  redress  the;  ]'arliament  had  paid 
little  attention  ;  hut  with  the  return  of  tlu;  old  monarchy,  its 
likings  and  its  hatreds,  tlie  politic  Friends  had  hopes  that  the 
easy-going  Charles  would  lend  a  more  gracious  ear  to  them  in 
the  hour  of  his  great  triumi)h  over  the  Puritan  cause;  uor 
would  he  he  found  unwilling  to  lower  the  pride  of  those 
liaughty  Puritan  subjects  of  his  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic 
who   wore  endeavoring  to  carry  on  a  little  commonwealth  of 


48 


N  K\V-i:X( ;  LAN  I )    LKCP^NDS. 


tlii'ir  own.  Tilt'  iiioiiKMit  Wiisi  indeed  uiiportunc  Floutin^f  in 
iididaliiiii,  t'liiiilcs  tht;  king  was  \xv\\  dispdst'd  to  ck'niency 
toward  all  except  tlio.su  who  had  kept  him  i'or  twelve  yoar.s 
(.'hark',s  the  exile.  'I'lie  (j>uaker.s  were  on  their  part  strongly 
roused  to  make  renewed  etl'ort,  too,  by  the  news  they  received 
of  (ho  execution  <it'  "William  Leddra  at  J'.o.stoii.  Then  Kdward 
Burrouglus,  a  leading  Friend,  and  a  man  of  action,  entreated  and 
ohtaincil  an  audience  of  the  King. 


I 


If 


ENUROTT    HliCEIVlNU    THE    KJNO  S    OUDER. 


!|i 


!  I 


i 

I! 


"WIk.'u  ho  Avas  ush(>red  into  lie  presence-chamber  his  lirst 
words  were, — 

"  Sire,  there  is  a  vein  of  innocent  blootl  opened  in  your 
Majesty's  dominions  which,  if  not  stopjied,  may  overrun  all." 

"  I  will  stop  that  vein,"  said  the  King,  shortly. 

Hurroughs  then  laid  before  tlie  King  a  detailed  account  of 
what  had  been  done  in  New  England.  After  he  had  listened 
to  the  catalogue  of  scourgings,  brandings,  crijpped  ears,  banish- 
ments upon  pain  of  death,  and  lastly  of  the  execution  of  four 


THE    KINllS   MlSrilVK. 


4!) 


persons  of  this  .sih-:  Ibr  iircsuiuiiix  to  ictiini  t(j  the  Colony  wliun 
ibi'biclth'ii  to  do  so,  tlic  suilnr,  turning  accuser,  tlien  presented  tlie 
Kin;^-  wilii  tlie  pi(jois  tliat  liie  New  Kn.nhmd  autlioriti(;s  liad 
rel'ust'd  to  allow  tlie  (^hiakers  an  appeal  to  Knj^land  vlu'n  they 
had  demanded  it.  His  .Majesty  is  leixirtcd  tu  have  taken  great 
notice-  ul'  tliis  particular  item  of  the  indictment,  calling  out  to 
the  lords  who  were  with  him  tu  licar  it,  and  thuu  excluiming 
ironically,  — 

"  i.o  :  thes(i  are  my  good  sul)j(,'cts  of  ^'ew  England." 
He  then  in(]uircd  when  a  ship  would  bo  ready  to  sail  for  Now 
England,  and  upon  ])eing  iidbrmod,  dismissed  burroughs,  -with 
the  i)rumise  that  ho  should  presently  hear  from  him  througii  the 
Lord  Chancellor.  This  promise  Charles  punctually  kept.  The 
mandatory  letter  which  [)rec(!des  our  account  was  duly  prepared, 
and  then  —  bitterest  pill  of  all  for  the  ilisloyal  colonists  to  swal- 
low!— Avhom  should  the  King's  minister  select  to  bo  the  bearer 
of  it,  but  Samuel  Shattuck,  an  exiled  Quaker,  and  one  who  had 
given  the  Ntnv  England  magistrates  no  end  of  trouble,  he  lieing 
linally  l)a]iished  liy  them  from  the  Colony  upon  i)ain  uf  death. 
It  will  thus  1(0  ^ivn  that  nothing  had  been  omitted  that  could 
render  the  humiliation  complete. 

The  London  Friends,  immediately  this  was  done,  cliartered 
a  vessel,  of  which  Ralph  CJoldsmith,  another  (.Quaker,  was  cap- 
tain, to  carry  tlie  King's  order  and  his  messenger  to  Hoston. 
In  six  weeks  the  ship  arrived  at  her  destination.  It  being  tho 
Sal)bath,  all  the  comj)any  romainod  (piietly  on  board. 

Seeing  a  vessel,  with  an  English  ensign  at  her  peak,  cast 
anchor  in  their  road,  some  of  the  selectmen  of  th(!  town  hastened 
on  board  to  learn  the  news,  little  dreaming  it,  how(;vor,  to  lie 
of  so  much  personal  interest  to  themselves.  They  eagerly  asked 
the  cajitain  if  he  hail  l)rought  any  letters;  for,  as  may  be  imag- 
iued,  intelligence  of  the  events  then  taking  place  in  England  was 
awaited  with  the  utmost  anxiety  and  impatience.  Tho  master 
replied  that  he  had,  but  he  would  not  deliver  them  on  that  day ; 
and  so  his  visitors  got  into  their  boat  and  wont  on  shore  again 
as  wise  as  they  came.      But  in  tho  meantime  some  of  them 

4 


■p 


60 


np:\v-en(;lani)  legends. 


l;l 


liJiviii.L,'  recognized  Sliiittuck  ami  others  on  board  as  being 
(jhiiikcrs,  tliey  spread  tlie  report  tliat  "  Sluittuek  and  tlie  devil 
and  all  hail  eoiue  back  again." 

The  next  morning,  arniod  with  the  King's  mandate,  Shattuck 
came  on  shore  accompanied  by  (loldsmith,  the  master,  and  they 
two,  after  sending  their  boat  back  to  the  ship,  went  directly 
through  the  town  to  ( Jovernor  Endicott's  house,  passing  in  their 


LlBEllTY    TREE,    PLANTED   1646.      IJUILUING   ERECTED    1666. 

way  the  market-place  where  so  niany  of  their  friends  had  been 
mercilessly  whipped,  and  the  jail  in  which  many  were  still  con- 
fined. A  few  steps  more  would  bring  them  face  to  face  with 
their  worst  enemy.  They  knew  that  they  were  bearding  the 
lion  when  they  knocked  at  Governor  Endicott's  door. 

The  servant  who  opened  it  asked  what  was  their  business 
with  his  master.     They  bid  him  say  that,  being  charged  with 


IS 


THE    KINU  S   MISSIVE. 


51 


the  conuiiunils  of  his   Majesty  the  King,   they  shoukl   ileUver 
their  message  iuto  none  l»ut  tlie  (lovenior's  own  hands.      I'liey 
were  tlien  a(huitte(l  witliout  further  (juestioning,  and  presently 
the  redoubted  Clovernur  came  in  to  them  ;  but  u])on  jtereeivin" 
(hat  .Shattuck  kejit  his  liat  on,  he  commanded  it  to  l)e  taken 
off,  -winch  was  done.     Then  having  received  the  deputation  and 
the  pajiers,  the  Oovernor  formally  acknowledged  its  ofhcial  char- 
acter by  removing  his  own  hat,  and  ordering  that  of  Shattuck 
to  be  given  to  him  again.     Yet  the  man  who  now  stood  before 
him  (;njoying  his  moral  degrailation  while  protected  by  an  in- 
violable safeguard,   was  the  same  one  whom  he  had  formerly 
sentenced  to  stripes  and  banishment.      The  draught  was  a  bitter 
one,  but   Knilicott  bore  himself  with  dignity.     After  this  by- 
play indicating  the  homage  due  to  royalty  and  its  representative, 
the  ( Governor  read  the  letter,  and  bidding  -Shattuck  and  (!old- 
suiith  to  folh)w  him,  then  went  to  the  Deputy-Governor's  house, 
which  stood  near  his  own,  and  laid  the  papers  before  Belling- 
ham.      Having   held    some    conference   with    the   Deputy,    the 
nature  of  wiiich  may  easily  be  imagined  from   the  se(juel,  the 
(Governor  turned  to  the  messengers  and  said  briefly  and  with 
dignity,  — 

"  We  shall  obey  his  Majesty's  command." 

After  this  interview  was  ended,  (ioldsmith  gave  liberty  to  all 
his  pass(!ngers  to  come  on  shore,  which  they  did,  and  afterward 
publicly  held  a  religious  meeting  with  those  of  their  faith  in  the 
town,  "returning  thanks  to  (Jod  for  his  mercy  manifested  in  this 
most  wonderful  deliverance."  All  such  assemblies  as  this  having 
been  unlawful,  this  act  announced  the  King's  active  intervention 
in  their  allairs  to  the  people.  An  order 'soon  after  issued,  releas- 
ing all  Quakers  then  in  custody. 

The  scene  between  Endicott  and  Bellingham  is  imagined  by 
Mr.  Longfellow  in  his  "  Xew  England  Tragedies."  lie  there 
endeavors  to  depict  the  characters  of  the  chief  actors,  and  to 
show  the  spirit  of  these  extraordinary  times.  In  this  par- 
ticular field  he  has  therefore  preceded  Mr.  Whitticr,  whoso 
"King's  Missive,"  prepared  for  the  "Memorial  History  of  Bos- 


CT 


52 


NEW-ENGLANU   LEi;E>'DS. 


ton,"  deals  exclusively  with  tliu  events  surrounding  the  order  of 
Clituius  II.  'J'lii3  two  pieces  utl'er,  however,  a  striking  ciHitrast 
in  metliod  as  W(;ll  as  in  style,  one  being  a  consecutive  and  iumio- 
geneuus  narrative,  while  the  other  is  made  up  of  se[)arateil  inci- 
dents, selected  here  and  there  I'ur  their  dramatic  (pudity  rutlier 
than  thi'ir  coherence  or  historical  setpience.  iJoth,  ln)wever, 
have  tlie  same  purjiose  —  eternally  to  set  the  seal  of  condem- 
nation on  a  great  wrong  by  exliibiting  tlie  (,)uakers  in  the  light 
oi'  martyrs.  To  this  end  Mr.  Longfellow  takes  for  las  heroine  a 
young  girl,  Edith  Christison  by  name,  who  is  brutally  scourged 
from  town  to  town,  is  then  releasetl,  and  driven  forth  into 
tlie  wilderness.  .Such  was  the  law,  and  such  things  actually 
occurred.  Singularly  en()Ugli,  this  is  also  the  motive  of  Mr. 
Whittier's  "  Cassandra  Soulhwick."  In  both  cases  the  youtli, 
beauty,  constancy,  and  heroism  of  the  sulferers  strongly  ajipeal 
to  our  sympathies,  and  are  supposed  deeply  to  m(jve  the  actual 
spectators.  Jiut  with  a  deeper  insight  into  the  human  heart 
Mr.  Longfellow  makes  the  sou  of  IJovernor  Endicott  himself 
fall  in  love  with  Edith,  wdiose  martyrdom  he  has  witnessed, 
thus  bringing  straight  home  to  the  stern  father  the  consecpiences 
of  his  own  evil  acts.  The  King's  imperious  mandate  wounds 
his  pride ;  his  son's  conduct  strikes  at  the  heart,  and  this 
wound  is  mortal.  Thus  it  is  no  less  strange  than  true  that, 
under  favor  of  one  of  the  most  prolligate  and  irreligious  of 
monarchs,  the  beneiicent  era  of  religious  toleration  began  its 
unpromising  dawning  in  Now  England. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  whenever  they  can  do  so,  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's characters  speak  in  the  actual  language  of  history. 
Lideed,  the  tragedy  is  not  a  creation,  like  "  Ernani,"  but  a  frag- 
ment of  sober  liistory,  taken  from  existing  records,  into  which 
a  ])oetic  feeling  is  infused,  and  whose  episodical  parts  aflbrd 
occasional  glimpses  of  the  author'^  genius  shining  like  pure 
gold  in  the  rough  metid. 


t  . 


THK    king's    MlasiVK. 


53 


{From  Longfellows  "  Xe^v  Enrjland  Tragedies:') 

ScKNi:  ni.    Th,:  (unrrnnr's  /'rimh-  /Imm.     /'ajirrs  upon  the  tabic.    Endicott 

(Old    JiKLiaXGHAM. 

KNDICOTT. 

Thi's  tlio  old  tyranny  icviv(.'s  again  ! 
Its  ai'iii  is  lull,!,'  eiidu^'li  to  itNU'li  us  licrc, 
As  ydii  will  si-e.     Fov,  nioiv  insulting'  still 
Tiian  llannting  in  our  i'accs  dead  luun's  shrouds, 
Ifore  is  the  King's  Mandamus,  taking  IVoni  us, 
Fro!u  tiiis  day  forth,  all  power  to  iiunish  yuakers. 

HKI.I.INdllAM. 

That  takes  from  us  all  iiowcr  ;  we  are  but  puppets, 
And  can  no  longer  execute  our  laws. 


ENDICOTT. 

Ojmts  Ihr  Mandamm  ami  hand.o  it  h.  Hi:i.i  in.jha.m  ;  and  u-hile  he  is  reading, 
KNDIfoTT  ir,dh:-i  „p  „nd  duvn  llir  nmiii. 

Here,  read  it  lor  yourself;  you  see  liis  words 

Are  pleasant  words  — eiiiisiderate  — not  rei)roachful  — 

>*othing  eould  be  more  gentle  —  or  more  royal  ; 

But  then  the  meaning  underneath  the  words, 

Mark  that.     He  says  all  people  known  as  Quakers 

Among  us,  now  condemned  to  sutler  death 

Or  any  corporal  punisiiment  whatever, 

A\  ho  are  imprisoned,  or  may  be  obnoxious 

To  the  like  condemnation,  shall  be  sent 

Forth willi  to  England,  to  be  dealt  with  there 

In  such  wise  as  shall  be  agreealile 

Unto  the  English  law  and  their  demerits. 

Is  it  not  so  ? 

BELLINGHAM  {returning  the  paper). 
Ay,  so  the  paper  says. 


« 


r  <       i| 


54 


NEW-ENtlLAND    LEGENDS. 


S! 


RNDICOTT. 

I  tell  Vdii,  Richard  Belliii^haiu,  —  I  tell  you, 

Tliat  tliis  is  the  hegiiiniiig  ol'  a  struggle 

or  which  no  mortal  can  foresee  the  end. 

i  .*hall  not  live  to  tight  the  liattle  for  you, 

I  iiiu  a  man  disgraced  in  every  way  ; 

Th  s  order  takes  from  me  my  self-respect 

And  the  resjiect  of  others.     'T  is  my  doom, 

Yes,  my  death-warrant,  —  l)ut  must  be  obeyed  ! 

Take  it,  and  see  that  it  is  executed 

So  far  as  this,  that  all  be  set  at  large  ; 

But  see  that  none  of  them  be  sent  to  England 

To  l)ear  false  witness,  and  to  spread  reports 

That  might  be  prejudicial  to  ourselves,       [l-!xit  BellINGHAM. 

Tliere  's  a  dull  pain  keeps  knocking  at  my  lieart, 

Dolefully  saying,  "  Set  thy  house  in  order. 

For  thou  shalt  surely  ilie,  and  shalt  not  live  !  " 

For  me  the  shadow  on  the  dial-])late 

Goeth  not  back,  but  on  into  the  dark !  [Ejiit. 


]\rr.  Whittier'.s  poem  presents  the  events  we  have  recordiMl 
in  a  harmonious  and  remarkably  i)icturestjue  narrative.  He  is 
conscientiously  faithful  both  to  the  spirit  anil  letter  of  tlie 
subject  itself,  while  to  tlie  imi)lacable  spirit  of  persecution, 
personified  here  by  Kudicott,  he  is  a  generous  and  impartial 
judge.  We  Avrite  it,  nevertheless,  as  a  fact,  that  the  poem 
caused  much  discussion  on  its  iirst  appearance,  —  a  discussion 
fully  vindicating  the  (Quaker  poijt's  adherence  to  tlie  truth  of 
history.  But  the  prose;  and  i)oetic  versions  are  now  before  the 
reader  for  his  decision. 

THE   KING'S   MISSIVE. 

Under  the  great  hill  sloping  bare 
To  cove  and  meadow  and  Conunon  lot, 

In  his  council  chamber  and  oaken  chair 
Sat  the  worshipful  Governor  Endicott,  — 


t.i, 


TIIK    KINC'S    MISSIVE. 

A  grave,  stiiiiij,'  man,  wlio  know  no  [)i;ev 
III  till'  pilgrim  land  where  lie  ruled  in  fear 
Of  (lud,  not  man,  and  for  good  oi'  ill 
Held  Iiis  trust  willi  an  iron  will. 

He  had  shorn  with  his  swoid  the  cross  from  out 

The  Ihy,  and  eloven  the  May-pole  down, 
Harried  the  heathen  round  uhout, 

And  whipjied  the  Quakers  iiom  town  to  town. 
Eainest  and  honest,  a  man  at  need 
To  Kuru  like  a  torch  for  his  own  iiarsh  creed, 
Jlc  kv[>[  with  the  ilaiinng  Inand  of  his  zeal 
The  gatt!  of  the  liolv  commonweal. 


55 


The  door  swung  ojieu,  and  Rawson  the  Clerk 

Entered  and  whispered  undeilncath  : 
"  Then;  waits  below  for  the  hangman's  work 

A  fellow  liani.-iied  on  pain  of  death, — 
Shattuck  of  Salem,  unhealed  of  the  whip, 
I'rought  over  in  Master  (ioldsinith's  ship. 
At  anchor  heie  in  a  Christian  port 
With  freight  of  the  Devil  and  all  his  s(nt !  " 

Twice  ami  thrice  on  his  ihamher  lluor 
Striding  liercely  from  wall  to  wall, 
"  The  Lord  do  so  to  me  and  more," 

The  (Jovernor  cried,  "  if  I  hang  not  at  all  ! 
Bring  hither  the  Quaker."     Calm,  sedate. 
With  the  look  of  a  man  at  ease  with  fate, 
Inf((  that  presence  grim  and  dread 
Came  Samuel  Shattuck  with  hat  on  head, 

"Off  with  the  knave's  hat  !  "     An  angry  hand 

Smote  down  the  olFeiioe ;  hut  the  wearer  said, 
With  a  quiet  smile  :  "  iJy  tlie  King's  command 

I  bear  his  message  and  stand  in  his  stead." 
In  the  (ioveriior's  hand  a  missive  lie  laid 
With  tlie  Royal  arms  on  its  seal  dis])laved, 
And  the  proud  man  spake  as  he  gazed  thereat, 
Uncovering,  "  Give  Mr.  Shattuck  his  hat." 


56  N'KV.'-KycLAMi    LKdKNUS. 

ITc  tnnifil  to  till'  (i)iiiik('r,  liowiiii^  low  : 

"The  Kin;;  ('<iiiiiiiiiii(li'tli  ymir  rriciids'  ri'luasc. 
Ddillit  iKit  lie  sliall  111'  olicyi'd,  JiltIiouj;li 

'l"n  liis  subjt'fts'  soiTitw  1111(1  siiTs  increase. 
Wliat  lie  here  eiijoiiii'tli  .lohii  Hiidicott 
His  loyal  servant  (lucstioiit'th  not. 
Voii  an-  free  !  —  Ciod  ^'ranl  tlic  sjiiiit  you  own 
May  take  you  Iroiii  us  to  parts  unknown." 


■i    r; 


THE   QUAKER  rROPTIETESS. 

1677. 

TI[E  ()l(l  Soutli  Church  iu  liostou  —  not  thn  prcsont  buiUl- 
iiig,  hut  the  one  Hrst  erected  upon  the  same  spot  —  was 
tho  scene  of  an  event  without  a  jjarallel  in  tlie  annals  of  our 
Puritan  churches,  in  some  of  which,  nevertheless,  remarkable 
scenes  had  occurred. 

To  the  simple  and  austere  (^)uaker  manners,  outdoing  even 
Puritan  iileas  of  moral  and  physical  self-restraint,  now  and  then 
comes  the  unexpected  contrast  of  theatrical  climax  in  its  most 
bizarre  forms.  So  the  early  history  of  the  Friends  in  New 
England  shows  the  dominant  princij)l(!  of  passive  ojiposition  to 
persecution  occasionally  giving  way,  all  at  once,  to  an  aggressive 
spirit  that  impelled  the  actors  on  through  thorny  ways  toward 
the  goal  for  which  they  strove  and  struggled.  If,  now  and  then, 
one  half  crazed  by  suffering  was  betrayed  into  some  act  of  folly, 
it  is  surely  not  a  matter  for  astonishment  or  exultation.  Their 
annids  present  tho  names  of  no  informers  and  no  apostates. 

Obeying  the  connnand  of  a  hallucination  to  which  she  bowed 
as  if  it  were  a  divine  behest,  tho  Quakeress  Deborah  Wilson 
had  walked  naked  through  the  streets  of  Salem  "  as  a  sign  of 
spiritual  nakedness  in  town  and  country,"  and  for  so  doing  she 
was  most  uncharitably  whipped  with  thirty  stripes.  Again, 
Lydia  Wardwell,  who  is  called   "  a  young  and  tender  chaste 


TIIK   glAKKll    rUOl'lIKTKSS. 


person,"  for  startling,'  tlit^  couj^'rcj^iitidti  of  Xcwbiiry  by  walkiug 
into  tho  in(M'tin;4-lioii.4(!  tlnTc,  un(;lolli('(l,  in  the  tinu!  of  imlilic 
wor.sliip,  was  tii'd  up  to  tin;  fcncopost  of  tho  tavern  wlion;  the 
court  sat,  at  Ipswicli,  to  iindurgo  a  simihir  })uni.shnu'nt. 

Hut  tlic  ( aso  of  Margaret  Brewster  clitfers  from  tliese  others  in 
that  a  nuinhi-r  of  persons  took  part  in  rarrying  out  wlial  it  was 
expected  would  strike  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  hehohhirs,  and 
to  tliis  (;nd  it  was  ctJiuhicted  witii  studied  attention  to  draniatii; 
elfect. 

(  Mk!  (juiet  SabLath  morning  in  duly,  1077,  aocorapanitid  Iiy 
several  of  the  most  note<l  persons  of  her  sect,  both  male  und 
female,  ^fargaret  lirewster  jtrcsented  lierself  at  the  door  of  the 
Old  South  Meeting-liouso  in  sermon-time,  the  strangest  visitor 
that  had  ever  (trossed  its  ronseerated  threshold.  She  lirst  took 
off  her  riding-habit  and  her  shoes  and  stockings,  and  then 
entered.  In  his  Diary,  whiiih  perhaps  may  become  as  famous 
as  that  of  tho  immortal  Pejjys,  Judge  Sewall  notes  that  while 
the  c(jngregation  was  listening  to  the  words  of  the  sermon  from 
the  aged  [)astor's  li|)s,  there  suddenly  was  seen  the  apjjarition 
of  a  woman  walking  slowly  uj)  the  broad  aisle  between  two 
men,  while  two  others  walked  beliind.  The  woman  was  bare- 
footed, her  head  was  sprinkled  with  ashes,  her  loosened  hair 
straggled  wildly  down  about  her  neck  and  shoulders,  her  face, 
was  besmeared  with  soot,  and  sh(»  won;  a  sackcloth  gown  loosely 
gathered  around  her  person.  This  appearance,  says  the  indig- 
nant diarist,  "occasioned  the  greatest  and  most  amazing  nju'iiar 
that  ever  I  saw." 

No  one  has  told  us,  but  we  can  imagine  the  congregation 
risii!g  in  consternation  to  their  feet,  the  sudden  stop  in  the 
sermoii,  the  moment  of  silence,  like  the  calm  before  the  storm, 
during  vhich  the  dark  prophetess  delivered  her  solenni  warning 
of  a  grievous  calamity  shortly  to  signify  to  them  the  displeasure 
of  God.  Then  the  excited  voices  of  Mie  men,  all  talking  and 
gesticulating  iit  once,  tlie  women  shrieking  ;n  terror  or  dropping 
in  a  dead  faint,  the  surging  to  and  fro  of  a  nniltitude,  all  occa- 
sioning  "  the  greatest  and  most  amazing  uproar  "  that  was  ever 


58 


NKW-KNCILAND   l.KtlKNDS. 


lieanl  insido  tlicst'  .siu:r»;il  walls,  witncMrtcd  to  i\w.  littlo  (Uiiitml 
^,'n)iiii  thill  tln'.y  liiiil  imlecd  cniiiti'tl  a  prol'tnind  .sciKSiitiuii.  The 
oIlenilL'i'.s  were  nil  (luiik)}  laki-ii  iiilu  cii.stddy  and  liurried  oil'  to 
priHoii.  When  Mar;,'ar(;t  was  anaignod  hcloro  thu  court,  tho 
conslablu  duelarod  hiiusolt'  wliully  unubli;  to  ideutily  hur  ixh  tho 


ANflKXT    norSKS,    XmiTll    KM). 


person  he  liad  aiT(>stc(l,  she  hcinrj  then,  as  he  deposed,  "in 
tho  shape  i^f  a  devil."  She  was  sentenced  to  l)o  whipped  up 
and  down  the  town  at  the  ciirt's  tail,  which  cruel  order  was 
carried  into  effect  a  few  days  later. 

This  event,  as  well  it  ]ni,<,dit,  newly  brought  the  affairs  of  tho 
Friends  to  a  crisis.  The  lirst  feeling  of  exasperation  demanded 
its  victims.  But  this  having  spent  itself,  the  Quakers,  taking 
courage,  assenibli'd  in  tlieir  houses  of  worship  in  such  formidable 
nund)ers  that  the  multitude  of  offenders  became  their  safe- 
truard. 


IN    TUK    OLD   SUL'TH    CllUltClI. 


r>9 


IN   THE   OLD   SOUTFI   ClfTlK'H. 

.1.  <i.  wmrriioH. 

►SuK  niiiii'  Jiiiil  stoiMl  ill  the  Old  Siiutli  Cliiiicli, 

A  woihIl'I'  and  u  si;<n, 
AVitli  a  Idiik  ili|.  old-tiiiii'  rsihyls  wore, 

ilaH'na/id  and  lialf  diviiio. 

Save  llir  iiiniiinriil  sackrlotli  nhimt  her  wound, 

L'lU'lotlii'il  as  the  primal  ihdIIut, 
Willi  liiiil.s  that  tiviiiMi'd,  and  cyi's  that  hlazi'd 

With  a  lire  slu;  daiv  m.t  sniotliLT. 

Loose  on  lift'  slKnildcr  Till  her  hair, 

With  .-|iiiidvlt'd  a.>hi.'s  ;,'ia  •  ; 
She  sii.nil  ill  the  liiuad  aisK',  sti'an;,'i)  and  woifd 

As  a  M>ul  at  the  Jud^'nu'iif-day. 

And  the  niinistfi'  ]iauscd  in  his  sciinoii's  niiilst, 
And  the  |ic(i])li'  held  ihi'ir  lucatli, 

I'\ii'  thi'sc  were  the  WDids  the  maiden  said 
ThrdU.^h  lips  as  pale  as  death  :  — 

"  Tims  saith  the  Lmd  :  '  With  uipial  feet 

All  iniMi  my  cduils  shall  tread, 
And  piiest  ami  ruler  no  more  shall  eat 

My  people  Up  like  Ineadl ' 

"  Repent  !  repent !  ere  the  Lord  shall  speak 

Tn  thuiiiler  and  hreakin;,'  seals  I 
Let  all  sduls  \v(irship  him  in  the  way 

His  lij^'ht  within  reveals  !  " 

She  sliook  the  dust  from  her  naked  feet, 

And  her  sackcloth  closely  drew, 
And  into  the  porch  of  the  awe-hushed  church 

She  passed  like  a  ^diost  from  view. 


^i 


60 


N  K\V-KN( ;  L\ N 1 1    L IK  I  KA'DS. 


*'M()I{K   WONDKRS   or   Till-:   INVISim.K 

WOKI.D." 

1693. 

TO  itno  will)  is  not  iMiiiiliiir  with  all  tli(^  |iliascs  wliidi  tli<i 
liistory  nf  witc.ln  rait  in  New  KiiL,'laiul  takes,  Mr.  Wliit- 
tici's  poom  ontitU'tl  "Cuk-f  in  Jiuston"  wduM  iloiihtlcss  lie  an 
('ni{,'Mia,  althouj^li  '\t»  foundation  is  fact  aiicl  its  purposo  distinct. 
For  .such  IV  clianipinn  of  cumninn-.senst'  as  Kolu'rl  Calcf  proved 
himself  to  1)0  when  hn  cjitercil  tlie  lists  a;^'aiiist  tliis  monstrous 
superstition,  the  poet  lias  a  natural  and  unstinted  symi)atliy,  and, 
u.>5in;,'  tlu!  i)rivile},'e  of  j,'enius,  hv.  has  (duferri'd  upon  the  liuml)le 
trade.sman  a  patent  of  iiohility.  Our  own  generation,  ai)plaud- 
in;,'  tlici  act,  hastens  to  inscrihe  the  namo  of  Calif  amon^'  the 
Vonefactors  of  his  a.Lje. 

The  },'eiu'ral  siihject  of  witchcraft,  indudili}^  liio  settled  Ixi- 
liefs  toui;hinj,'  it,  is  .set  forth  in  another  ))liicc  in  all  its  defor- 
mity. The  active  agency  of  Satan  in  human  allairs  l)cing  a 
thing  admitted,  it  became  the  hounden  duty  of  the  godly  nunis- 
ters  to  meet  his  insidious  attacks  upon  the  churches,  and  they, 
as  men  deeply  learned  in  such  things,  were  naturally  ajipealed  to 
by  magistrates  and  judges  for  holi)  and  guidance,  'i'hey  at  once 
put  on  all  the  armor  of  righteousness.  Solemn  fasting  and 
prayer  were  resorted  to  as  things  most  ellicaiinus  in  the  emer- 
gency. It  was  declared  from  the  pulpit  that  the  Devil  was  mak- 
ing a  mo.st  determined  eilort  to  root  ojit  the  Christian  religion  in 
Kew  England,  and  the  (Joveriuuent  was  advised  vigorously  to 
pro.ecute  the  ca.ses  of  witchcraft  before  it.  In  all  the  subse- 
quent proceedings  the  ministers  took  a  prominent  ])art.  They 
assisted  in  framing  the  ([uestions  to  be  jnit  in  such  a  way  as 
to  entrap  the  .sui)posed  witches,  and  they  attended  and  took 
minutes  of  the  examinations.     They  visited  tho  accused  persona 


"  MnUE    WiiNhKKS   «t|-   TIIK    INVlHIItLK    WoltLh." 


i;i 


ill  prison  wlnt  wt'ii'  hcliivi'il  tu  l»c  in  itjii^'iu)  with  Sutaii,  tliiin 
pultiiij,'  ill  |irii(ti(c  tli((  piiiu'iplt!  that, — 

Tin'  ;,'i"ily  may  allt'j,'f 
For  aiiytliinv,'  their  iiiivilfj,'t', 
AikI  to  till'  |)i  vil  hiiiiHi-lt'  limy  ^'n, 
If  tlicy  havf  iiintiviM  tlH'icuiilo  , 
For  a«  tiii'M'  i-i  a  war  lirtwi'iMi 
Thf  Dt'V  M  aiiil  ihtiii,  il  is  no  ^iu 
If  they,  hy  Huhtlu  strata^iiiii, 
Alakf  use  of  him  as  iu'  docs  tiicm. 

Cotton  >ratht'r  was  the  t'orfinost  (•lt'rj,'yiiiiiii  ot"  that  thirk  (hiy. 
lie  (lircctcil  all  hi.s  j^rrat  ahilitics  ami  Icaniiii^t,'  t'iii'r;;fti('ally  tu 
extfrminatc  tin-  "ilcvil.s"  \\lii),  as  Ik!  tolls  us  in  his  '*  W'omlcis," 
wort'  walking'  about  the  stivt'ts  '*  with  h'li^'thciu'd  chains,  miking' 
a  ilroiull'ul  noiso  ;  ami  l)rimstono  (cvon  without  a  m('ta|ihor)  was 
mukin|,'a  horriil  ami  hollish  stench"  in  imu's  nostrils.  Loanicd, 
cltMiucnt,  and  [n'l'suasivc,  a  man  of  groat  pi'i'sonal  maojictism  and 
lar^o  I'ollowiny,  his  inihicncc  was  suro  to  ho  potential  on  whiidi- 
ovlt  side  it  mi;^ht  he  east.  It  was  now  thrown  with  all  its 
force,  not  to  avert,  hut  to  stronotheii,  the  delusion,  therL!l)y  age;ru- 
vatino  its  eahiniitous  eonsecpiences.  Sumo  writers,  indeed,  have 
found  it  eu.sy  to  douht  his  sincerity.  Mr.  Whittier,  it  will  he 
seen,  writes  in  full  accord  with  this  leelini,'.  I>ut  the  same  chariot! 
nii,L(ht  with  e([ual  I'airncsa  inclmlo  all  the  (,'hristian  ministers  uf 
.Nhithur's  time. 

Against  ^Mather,  tho  ncigliLor,  adviser,  and  bosom  friend  of 
(lovernor  Sir  AVilliam  I'hips,  the  acknowledi^'ed  head  of  the 
>.'ew  Enj,dand  clergy  in  its  liighest  spiritual  estate,  a  man  having 
ancient  and  modern  lore  at  liis  tongue's  end,  and  withal  gifted 
■with  a  lluency,  vivacity,  and  readiness  in  composing  and  writing 
that  might  make  a  bolder  man  hesitate  to  attack  him,  now 
entered  tho  lists,  like  another  David,  llobert  Calef,  a  simple 
clothier,  unknown  outside  of  his  own  obscure  neighborhood. 
The  controversy  began  in  this  wise.  Calef  addressed  some  let- 
ters to  Dr.  Mather,  in  which  he  arraigned  not  only  the  witchcraft 
proceedings,  but  the  delusion  itself,  the  occasion  being  one  Mar- 


02 


NKW-KXCILANI)    L.:(iENI»S. 


1r: 


I 


garct  Rule,  a  youiif,' woman  of  Mather's  own  congrogation,  whoso 
singular  aOlictions  had  just  been  published  to  the  world  by  liim. 
under  the  startling  caption  of  "Another  JJrand  pluckt  t'min 
the  J'lurning." 

According  to  Mather,  this  young  woman  was  liaunt(!d  by 
no  fewer  than  eight  malignajit  spectres,  led  on  by  a  jirincipal 
demon,  who  upon  her  refusal  to  enter  into  a  bund  with  him, 
continually  i»ul  her  in  excruciating  bodily  torture  l)y  ])incliing, 
scorching,  and  sticking  pins  into  her  llesh,  thmwing  Ikt  into 
convulsions,  lilting  her  bodily  oil  the  bed,  and  the  like,  wherein, 


1   ;i 

;  I 

i.  ; 


II 


CANULKSTICK,    BIBLK,  AXU    SPECTACLES. 


m 


says  ^father,  she  languislu  1  "  for  just  six  weeks  together."  And 
we  are  also  told  that  at  times  the  ..  ators  of  her  miseries 
would  be  nearly  choked  with  the  fumes  of  brimstone  rising 
in  the  chamber. 

Taking  the  alarm,  which  many  no  doubt  ecpially  sharetl,  dread- 
ing a  new  outl)reak  of  the  delusion  whose  endiers,  unquenched 
by  blood,  were  still  smouldering,  Calef  also  seems  to  have  dis- 
trusted either  the  integrity  or  the  wisdom  of  his  learned  adver- 
sary, whom  he  now  oppo.sed  in  behalf  of  religion  nnd  of  public 
policy,  not  only  with  ability  and  vigor,  but  with  a  surprisingly 
well-eq'uipped  arsenal  of  scriptural  learning.  In  vain  Mather 
sneeringly  spoke  of  him  as  "  the  weaver  turned  minister,"  Calef 


MOKE    WOXDEUS   OF   THE   INVISir-j;   WOULD.' 


03 


only  plied  him  the  moro  jiointrMlly.  At  the  ciul  of  the  ooii- 
tt'ovei'sy  the  ik'q)ist'il  clothier  tuiiicd  out  to  be  one  of  those  men 
whose  reason  is  never  overthrown  by  panic,  and  wlio  do  not 
recede-  a  sin<;le  inch.  Mather  l)ef,'an  with  the  mistake  of  under- 
rating him  as  an  antagonist. 

After  Mather's  story  of  Margaret  K'ule  had  been  maile  public, 
( "alef  ;dso  drew  up  and  circulated  one,  taken  from  the  iiu)uths  of 
other  eye-witnesses,  which  is  a  protest  against  the  methods  used 
by  Mather  to  ilraw  out  extravagant  ami  incoherent  statements 
from  the  aniicted  girl.  This  proceeding  gave  great  offence  to 
the  reverend  author  of  "The  Wonilers."  He  retorted  with  abu- 
sive epithets,  and  threatened  Calef  with  an  action  for  slander. 
Calef  was,  in  fact,  arrested  on  a  warrant  fur  uttering  "  scandalous 
libels,"  and  was  bound  over  for  trial  j  but  no  prosecutor  appear- 
ing, the  case  was  ilismissed. 

Instead  of  being  silenced,  Calef  pursued  with  unremitting 
pertinacity  his  purpose  to  prevent  a  new  access  of  the  dismal 
frenzy  of  the  [ireoeding  year,  which  he  terms,  with  strong  feel- 
ing, "  the  sorest  allliction  and  greatest  blenush  to  religion  that 
ever  befell  this  country."  Later  on  Mather  condescended  to 
rei)ly  ;  but  it  is  evident  that  the  reaction  had  now  set  in,  and 
that  those  who  had  been  the  most  forward  in  abetting  the  witch- 
craft proceedings  were  anxi(.usly  considering  how  best  to  excul- 
pate themselves  both  to  their  own  and  to  the  newly  awakened 
public  conscience,  ^[athcr  was  no  exception.  Favored  l)y  this 
reaction,  Calef  continued  to  press  him  hard.  Cotton  Mather's 
story  of  Margaret  Rule  is,  in  fact,  a  plea  and  an  apology  for  the 
past.  In  it  he  asks,  "  Why,  after  all  my  unwearied  cares  and 
pains  to  rescue  the  miserable  from  the  lions  antl  bears  of  hell, 
which  had  seized  them,  and  after  all  my  studies  to  disappoint 
the  devils  in  their  designs  to  confound  my  neighborhood,  must 
I  be  driven  to  the  nece~sity  of  an  apology]"  This  language 
shows  how  hard  a  thing  it  was  for  him  to  be  forced  to  descend 
from  his  high  pedestal. 

And  again  he  naively  says  :  "  And  now  I  suppose  that  some  of 
our  learned  witlings  of  the  coffee-house,  for  fear  lest  th       proofs 


,--* 


64 


NEW-EN(  i  L  A  N I )   L  VA  I  EN  1  )S. 


of  iin  liivisil)l(i  World  .slumM  .s[Miil  .some  of  ihvAv  ,s[)()rl,  will 
endciavor  to  turn  ll'cin  all  into  .si)oi't  ;  for  wliich  bull'iidnciy 
tliuir  (Mily  proti'iicc  Avill  lie  :  '  They  i;uii"t  lUidcrslaiKl  liow  .such 
things  a::  these  could  Ijc  done.'"  JIc  has  become  exi|uisil('ly 
sensitive  to  ridicule. 

lint  witclicraft  had  now  iutleed  i^'ot  to  the  length  of  its  blood- 
corroded  chain,  and  while  the  Ijelief  si  ill  ])revailed  almost  as 
strongly  as  ever,  few  men  (iould  be  found  Ixild  eiKiUgh  openly 
to  advocate  it.  The  sickening  reflection  tliat  th(!  judges  liad 
decreed  the  (U'atli  of  a  .scon;  of  innocent  lu-rsuns  n]ii)n  a  mis- 
take ])aralyzed  men's  tongues,  unless,  like  ( 'alef,  they  spoke 
in  obedience  to  the  coiumaml  of  con.science.  In  1700  lie 
collected  and  had  printeil  in  J^oiuhm  all  the  jiieees  relating 
to  his  controversy  Avitli  ('utton  .Mather,  tn  which  were  added 
an   '•Impartial  Acccuinl  "  of  the  Salem  outbreak,  and  a  review 

of    Mather's    life   of    Sir    A\'il- 


.^ijllfililjq-j^ 


TOMB  01"  TiiK  :m.vtiii:us, 
topr's  nii.L. 


liam  J'hips.  To  this  he  gave 
tlu!  title  ol'  "^lor(;  Wonders  of 
the  Invisilile  World."  >i'o  prin- 
tt'r  could  b(!  found  in  llos'  i 
or  in  the  Colony  willing  to 
undertake  the  publication,  or 
expose  it  for  sale.  It  was 
pul)licly  burneil  in  the  College- 
yard  at  Canibi'idge  by  order  of 
tlie  president,  whom  its  exposures  reaeh(  1  through  his  near  iv.l- 
ative.  To  l)reak  its  force,  a  vindication  was  prepared  and 
printed  ;  but  there  were  no  more  denunciations  made  for  witch- 
craft, or  courts  assembled  to  hang  innocent  people.  Calef  in- 
deed felt  the  resentment  of  the  ]Mathers,  but  he  had  saved  the 
cause. 

This  is  the  subject  to  which  Mr.  AVhittier  addresses  bis  verses 
entitled  "  Calef  in  Boston."  The  allusion  to  pu])pet-i)ky  is 
drawn  from  the  account  of  tin;  Tiule  case,  wherein  !  is  related 
by  ]\Iather  that  the  demons  who  tormented  the  girl  had  i)Ui)pets 
into  which  they  would  tlirust  pins  whenever  they  wislied  to 


t 


OALEF   IN    BOSTON. 


G5 


Iiurt  lior.  This  was  u  piece  of  uldou  superstition  which  as- 
sumed Unit  by  making  an  imago  in  wax  or  clay  of  the  person  she 
niiglit  hohl  a  grudge  against,  a  witch  could  put  that  person  to 
the  same  tortui'e  that  she  did,  in  a  mimic  way,  the  image. 

CALEV    IX    JiOSTON. 

J.    G.    WIIITTIKU. 

In  the  solenni  days  of  old 

Two  men  met  in  Boston  town, 
One  a  tradesman  frank  and  l)old. 

One  a  preacher  of  n-nown. 

Crit'd  the  last,  in  Ijitici'  tone  : 
"  Poisoner  of  the  wells  of  truth  ! 

Satan's  hireling,  thou  hast  sown 

With  his  tares  the  heart  o\'  youth  1" 

Spake  the  simple  tradesnuui  then  ; 

'•(!o(l  1)1'  ju<l.ue  "twixl  tiiou  and   I; 
All  tiiou  knowest  of  trntli  hath  been 

Unto  men  like  thee  a    lie. 


"Of  your  spectral  puppet  play 
I  have  traced  the  ciuming  wires  ; 

Come  what  will,  I  needs  nuist  say, 
(rod  is  true,  and  ye  are  liars." 

When  the  thought  of  man  is  free, 
Error  fears  itf   lightest  tones ; 

So  the  ])riest  cried,  "  Sadducec  !" 
And  the  people  took  uji  stones. 

In  the  aneient  bufying-grouiul. 

Side  by  side,  the  twain  now  lie, — 

One  with  humble  grassy  mound. 
One  with  marbles  pale  and  high. 


V    1 


I 


li      I 


) 


66 


NP:VV-ENtiLANI)  LEGKNDS. 


nix's  matk. 


NIX'S   MATE. 

TIlKlvE  arc  twu  local  Icgciuls,  one  of  disaster  uiul  ouv  dt" 
piracy,  which,  most  uiii'ortiuiatcly  for  tho  coiuiiletciK'ss 
of  (iiir  c(jllcclioii,  coiiu!  cither  in  wliolc  or  in  part  under  tli(( 
head  of  lost  legends.     Tlie  lirst  is  tlio  account  of  the  drowning 

of  Captain    (leorgc;    AVorthylake, 
the  keeper  of  the  iirst  lighthouse 
m^^^ki!    that  was  enacted  at  tlic  entrance 
r^    to  Boston  Jlarhor. 

This  sutHciently  simple  incident 
derives  its  chief  interest  from  the 
curious  fact  that  it  was  the  subject 
of  Franklin's  earliest,  an<l  if  \vv 
are  to  believe  him,  misdirected, 
effort  to  court  the  Muses  in  a  ballad,  lie  says  of  it  tiiat  his 
brother  .lames,  whose  apprentice  he  then  was,  thinking  that 
he  might  lind  his  account  in  jirinting  them,  had  encouraged 
him  to  write  two  ballads,  one  called  the  "  Lighthouse  Tragedy,'' 
containing  an  account  of  the  loss  of  Captain  AVorthylake  and 
his  two  daughters,  the  other  a  sailor's  song  on  the  capture  of 
the  noted  pirate,  lUackbeard.  "  They  wore,"  he  ingenuously 
remarks,  "wretched  verses  in  point  of  style,  mere  Idind-men's 
ditties."  "When  they  were  struck  oif,  his  brother  despatched 
him  to  hawk  them  about  the  town.  The  iirst  he  assures  us 
had  a  prodigious  run,  because  the  event  was  recent  and  luui 
made  a  great  noise.  No  copy  of  this  ballad  is  known  to  exist, 
nor  has  tradition  transmitted  to  us  a  single  line  of  its  verses. 

It  is  easily  l(\arned  from  contemporary  records  that  Captain 
(Jeorgo  Worthylake,  who  lived  upon  Lovell's  Island,  while  <jn 
his  way  up  the  harbor,  "  took  heaven  by  the  way,"  as  one  writer 
piously  puts  it.     His  wife  Ann  and  his  daughter  liuth,  wlio 


'.S 


NIX  8   MATE. 


07 


accdiiiimnictl  him,  iilso  pciislioil  willi  liiiii  by  drowning,  and  tlic 
tlin.'L'  untVii'tunaU's  woro  all  Ijuriod  in  one  gmvo  in  the  ancient 
cemetery  oi'  Copp's  Hill.  'I'he  gravestone  records  the  liiet  tliat 
they  (lied  Novemher  .">,  171S;  hut  it  is  exasperatingly  silent 
(•(incerning  any  incident  that  was  likely  to  produce  a  coinmemu- 
rutive  Iiallad. 

The  otiiei'  K'gi.'nd  is  the  true  stnry  of  the  oii;;in  of  the  name 
long  ago  given  to  the  submerged  islet  ealle(t  Nix's  Male,  over 
which  a  jondy  ol)cli.>k  rises  out  of  the  tlowiiig  tides,  not  for  a 
memorial  of  dark  and  bloody  dee(ls,  as  some  people  siip|piise, 
but  as  a  guiding  landmark  to  warn  ships  to  steer  clear  of  the 
dangerous  reef  beneath.  No  spot  within  a  wide  range  of  the 
coast  is  the  subject  of  more  eager  curiosity  to  sailors  or  lands- 
men, or  ol  more  exaggerated  conjecture,  precisely  because  to  this 
day  its  true  history  remains  an  enigma.  But  such  as  it  is  the 
legend  is  given  for  what  it  may  be  woith. 

Following  the  repulsive  custom  of  erecting  the  public  gilibet 
at  the  entrance  to  a  town  or  a  village,  ■where  the  stark  bodies 
of  condemned  malefactors  wen;  the  lir.st  objects  seen  liy  all  who 
passed  in  or  out,  it  was  usual  to  hang  in  chains  conciemned 
pirates  at  the  entrance  to  a  port,  to  signal  a  like  warning  to 
tho.se  who  followed  the  sea  as  their  highway.  Long  custom 
liad  sanctioned  this  po^t-ynarteiii  .sentence.  The  laws  allowed 
it  and  the  people  approved  it.  It  followed  that  the  stranger 
who  pas.sed  underneath  one  of  these  ensigns  of  terror  could 
have  no  doubt  that  he  had  entered  a  Christian  land,  since  the 
administration  of  justice  according  to  its  most  civilized  forms 
coidVouted  him  upon  its  very  threshold. 

The  sunken  reef  now  known  as  Nix's  Mate  was  once  an  islet 
containing  several  acres  of  land,  and  it  was  at  a  very  early  day 
the  j)roperty  of  a  ceitaiii  .John  ( lallup,  from  whom  the  adjacent 
island  is  named.  Tlie  sea  has  destroye  i  everj-  vestige  of  it, 
exceiiting  oidy  the  blackened  bouMers  that  lie  exposed  at  low 
tide,  over  which  the  monument  stands  guard.  Yet  not  more 
certainly  has  the  islet  perished  thrcagh  the  action  of  destroying 
currents  than  has  the  memory  of  Nix  or  his  Mate  been  swept 


68 


N  KVV-ENGLAND   LEOKND.S. 


i!  i 


^     1 


ii 


^l   :I) 


l|  I     ■ 

m  • 


0 


away  into  oblivion  ])y  tlu'  tides  of  tiiuo.  Still  tho  naniu  is  a 
fact  entered  upon  the  puldie  records  of  th(^  Colony  as  a  tiling 
of  general  knowledge  ;  and  we  therefore  ('(MitiniU!  to  call  the 
reef  Nix's  Mat(!  without  in  the  least  knowing  why  wc  do  so. 

Tlie  only  other  fact  giving  authority  to  the;  tradition  connected 
with  the  islet  is  the  certainty  that  it  was  more  or  less  used  in 
times  past  as  a  place  of  ex(MMition  for  condemned  pirates,  s(!veral 
of  whom  finishiMl  here  a  (;areer  of  crime,  the  bare  recital  of  which 
makes  one's  blood  run  cold.  The  name  of  Nix  only  is  wanted 
to  complete  the  black  calendar.  Every  trace  of  the  soil  to  which 
the  bones  of  the  victims  were  consigned  has  disappeared,  and 
only  the  solitary  monument  indicates  this  graveyard  of  tlie  sea, 
which  the  waves  have  kindly  levelled  and  blotted  out  for(>ver. 

It  has,  however,  been  handed  down  from  generation  to  gener- 
ation, —  and  M'e  have  yet  to  find  the  individual  bold  enough  to 
disi)Ute  it,  —  that  one  of  these  freebooters  persisted  to  the  last 
in  declaring  his  innocence  of  the  crimes  for  whi(di  he  Avas  to 
suffer  death  at  the  hangman's  hands ;  and  he  protested  witli  his 
latest  breath,  before  giving  uj)  the  ghost,  that  in  proof  of  the 
truth  of  his  dying  asstirtion  the  island  would  be  destroyed.  In 
effect,  the  waves  having  done  their  work  unhindered  by  any 
artificial  obstruction,  the  superstitious  have  always  seen  in  this 
a  decree  of  Fate,  and  Nix's  ]\Iate  is  supposed  by  them  to  have 
suffered  unjustly.  But  knowing  as  we  do  that  the  disapjiear- 
ance  of  the  island  is  due  to  natural  causes,  we  .are  unaljle  satis- 
factorily to  establish  the  connection  between  the  ])redictiou  and 
its  fulfilment.  In  any  case,  the  verification  of  innocence,  if  such 
it  shall  be  accounted,  came  too  late  by  a  century  t(j  save  Nix's 
Mate  from  the  halter. 


I        !' 


TIIK    DUEL   ON   TIFK   COMMON. 


69 


THE  DUEL  ON   THE  COMMON. 

1728. 

A    SSOr-IATEI)  with  the  vicinity  „f  the  Groat  Elm,  is  an 
X_L.     ,,p,s,„ie  not  only  of  ,loq,e.st  tra<,McaI   intc-irst,   Ixit   one 
still  further  remarkable  as  .lisproving  f„r  the  thousandth  time 
the  popular  falla.;y  that  "  murder  will  out."     In  New  En-dand 
there  had  been  no  need  of  e.licts  a-ainst  duellin-      The  pnu'tico 
■     was   universally   looked    upon   as    b..in-    nc.   whit    b..tter   than 
murder,  and  that  feeling  wa,s  voiced  by  Franklin,  truly,  thou.'h 
in  language  more  pungent  than  ,,olito,  in  his  memorable  reidy 
to  a  demand  for  .satisfaction  il  la  mode.     A  combat  of  words 
began.     After  two  or  thre.,  passe.s,  the  philosopher  easily  dis- 
armed his  adversary  with  his  usual  weapon,  hard  logic,  of  which 
he  was  a  consummate  master.     Our  story  is  a  brief  one. 

On  the  morning  of  July  4,  1728,  at  daybreak,  the' l)ody  of 
Benjamin  Wood])ridge,  a  young  merchant  of  the  town  was 
found  lying  in  a  pool  of  bloo.l  in  a  deserted  part  of  the 
Common.  He  had  been  dead  some  liours  of  a  sword-thrust. 
In  fact,  the  weapon  had  passed  completely  through  the  unfo)- 
tunate  young  man. 

No  one  can  l)egin  to  imagine  the  consternation  excited  by 
the  discovery  ;  and  the  feeling  was  not  allayed  when  it  tran- 
spired that  Woodbridge  had  fallen  in  a  duel  with  another  young 
gentleman  of  the  town  named  Phillips.  Doth  of  the  princii.als 
were  of  the  highest  respectability.  The  affair  was  con.lucted 
without  secon.ls,  and  the  victor,  after  seeing  his  adversary  fall 
had  fled.     It  was  evidently  a  duel  to  the  death. 

This  has  proved  one  of  the  best-kept  family  secrets  that  ever 
ballled  a  scandal-loving  generation.  To  this  day  the  real  cause 
of  the  singular  and  fatal  nocturnal  combat  remains  shrouded  in 
mystery.  It  is  indeed  alleged  that  the  quarrel  originated  over 
a  game  of  cards  at  the   public-house;   but  this  supposition  is 


70 


NEW-K\<;|.AN1)    LKdKNDS. 


liiiidly  coiisisUnit  witli  tln^  sccnji'V,  llic  iihsi'iicc  nf  all  witnesses, 
and  the  (leailly  [xirpose  with  whieh  the  duel  was  ciUKlucltMl. 
The  parties  hiul  met  (sarly  uii  the  previous  evening  at  tiie  Unyal 
Exeliaiige,  arranged  the  meeting,  ami  immediately  repairc^d  to  tho 
rendezvous  which  one  of  tlieni  was  destiiieil  never  to  leave  alive. 

Positively  nothing,  then,  is  known  of  tlu  origin  of  the  aii'air. 
Still,  it  is  evident  that  no  common  and  vulgar  ipiarrd  over  diet; 
or  cards,  when  one  or  hoth  had  maile  too  free  with  "the  'I'us- 
can  grape,"  could  have  so  eternally  sealed  the  lips  of  those  to 
whom  tlio  real  cause  of  this  singular  aii'air  of  honor  must  have 
been  revealed.     Phillips  was  hurried  away  on  Ixiard  a  ship  hy 


\\^af^^i^U:;:^  f. 


r\' 


THE    DUEL   ON   TIIE    COMMON. 


Iff': 


his  friends,  and  died  miserably  in  exile.  The  iiupicst  elicited 
nothing  of  moment  beyonil  the  barren  facts  here  narrated.  Jus- 
tice was  completely  bailled.  The  headstone  in  the  old  (Jranary, 
where,  in  the  language  of  the  day,  ]ioor  Woodhridge  was  "de- 
cently and  handsomely  interred,"  is  silent.  Satan,  who  had  the 
arranging  of  this  lugubrious  combat,  thrust  home  with  young 
Phillips.  Ignorant  as  we  are  of  the  real  cause,  wo  are  yet  irre- 
sistibly led  to  conclude  that  these  misguided  youths  crossed 
swords  not  in  a  moment  of  passion,  but  at  the  instigation  of 
some  offence  over  which  the  grave  itselt^must  close.  The  grave 
has  closed  over  it. 


DUG   D  ANVILLES   UESCtiNT. 


DUG   D'ANVILLE'S   DESCENT. 


1746. 

HA\'1N(J  rc<^'ar(l,  possihly,  to  tlu'  iiiaxiia  that  a  tlaiij^'cr 
cscapocl  is  a  (Um<;('i'  no  loiij^cr,  the  historians  liavi'  in 
j^riicral  tn-atcd  tho  th'scent  of  Aihiiiral  d'Anville  with  easy 
iiiiliU'i'R'ncL'.  Yet  tho 
staitHnj,'  I'ai't  rouiains 
that  so  lon^'  as  liis  lleut 
rode  the  seas  in  safety, 
th(;  fate  of  New  Eng- 
laml  treiiililed  in  tho 
halanee.  We  ])0'^  tlie 
reader's  eiiiisicU'ration 
nf  the  st(iry  fmni  this 
point  of  view. 

Tlie  taking  of  Louis- 
hurg  in  174;'),  a  piece 
<if  audacity  at  wlueh 
France  lirststood  aghast, 
and  tlien  wont  into  a 
towering  rage  o\er  it, 
camo  near  being  tho 
])rchide  to  a  struggle 
involving  notliing  less 
tlian  tlie  de  lies  of 
England's  .  vuierican 
colonies.  ]\y  opening 
new  and  alluring  vistas 

of  conciuest  to  British  statesmen,  it  set  them  upon  fresh  schemes 
for  tho  conquest  of  Canada  which  they  were  secretly  preparing 
to  put  in  execution.  In  fact,  by  this  mettled  achievement. 
New  England  had  driven  the  entering  wedge  into  the  very  heart 


OLD   SOUTU   CHURcn,    1872. 


72 


NKW-EN'(;i,ANI>   LKCKXDS. 


1  I 


•     I 


I!" 


I'll' 

liii 


of  till-  I''rfiicli  coldiiiiil  ('m|iii'(!.  Imi^LiikI  whs  now  pathoiin;^  Ikt 
Bti'oii^tli  to  I'orot;  it  luuui'. 

On  tlio  otlior  hiuul,  it  so  inconsod  tlio  Froiich  Court,  then  froah 
frniii  its  lirilliant  victories  in  the  Low  Conntrics,  that  orders 
were  j,'iven  for  tlie  iiuinefliate  eiiuippin^',  at  Mrest,  of  a  fornii- 
(lal)le  land  and  sea  arnianient,  wliicli  it  was  meant  siionld  nut 
oidy  r^iMVcM'  wiiat  liad  l)een  lost,  liut  carry  tlu^  war  enerj^'etieally 
to  the  enemy's  own  doors.  To  ^'uarantee  the  seeurity  of  your 
possessions  by  reeallinf?  your  enemy  to  tlio  defenc:(!  of  his  own, 
is  a  military  maxim  so  old  that  the  Cal)inet  nf  Versailles  eould 
not  be  safidy  assumed  to  lie  ij^norant  of  it. 

This  dduhle-shottod  idea  iimmiscd  results  lii;,ddy  important  to 
thoeolonial  sehemes,  as  well  as  to  the  waning;  presti;^'e,  of  France. 
So  also  did  it  give  fjood  promise  of  success  ;  for  at  Paris,  thanks 
to  r.ritish  parsimony,  it  was  well  known  that  the  Ilritisli  Ameri- 
can seajiorts  were  no  Louisburj,'s.  Since,  therefore,  to  ravage  the 
New  England  sea-coast  was  a  thing  jterfectly  feasible  to  dti.  Count 
Maurepas  resolved  to  do  it.  And  he  meant  to  do  it  effectually. 
The  preparations  at  Brest  being  (piickly  kmiwii  in  London,  the 
two  ancient  gladiators  began  once  more  to  strip  I'm  the  approach- 
ing condwt. 

Pursuing  its  own  plans,  the  English  Ministry  was  at  the 
same  time  collecting  ships,  men,  and  materials  of  war  at  I'orts- 
mouth,  f(jr  the  invasion  of  Canada.  (Jrders  were  sent  out  to 
the  Cohuiies  to  hasten  the  raising  of  troops  for  the  same  pur- 
])ose.  Then,  the  destination  of  the  French  fleet  not  being  quite 
clear,  the  Ministry  sent  a  squadron  to  blockade  it  in  Brest ;  but 
the  French  Admiral,  eluding  the  vigilance  of  the  British  cruisers, 
slipped  out  and  got  to  sea  notwithstanding.  Such  was  the  situ- 
ation in  the  midsummer  of  174(). 

The  fleet  now  on  the  sea  numbered  eleven  ships  of  the  line 
and  twenty  frigates,  carrying  814  guns  and  7000  .sailors,  to 
which  were  joined  thirty-four  transports  having  on  board  five 
battalions  of  the  veteran  troops  of  France.  The  fleet  was  com- 
manded by  M.  do  la  Rochefoucauld,  Due  d'Anville,  a  man  of 
illustrious  descent,  in  the  prime  of  life,  to  whom  the  fortunes  of 


IMO    l»  ANVILLK  H   I»K«CKNT. 


I  •> 


tlio  cxpoditioii  had  Ih'oii  coniinittctl  with  fiillost  oonlitloticc  in  hiH 
uliility  to  cxociitc  ills  (inlcrs  to  thr  IrttiT.  Those  onlrrs  were  to 
rctiikn  I,oui.sliiir;^'aii4  diMiiiiiiillo  its  I'ortiliciitioiiM,  recujitiirc  Aiiiiii|i- 
olis  and  <,'urrison  it,  and  then  to  hum  and  destroy  lioston,  and 
lay  waste  with  lirn  and  sword  the  \\  hole  const  as  far  as  Florichu 

iJoston,  the  pliiee  where  the  plans  for  capturing,'  Lnui.sl)ur;,' 
had  ori.L;iiiateil,  the  brain  and  heart  of  ilu!  l'',M^,'lish  ("olonies,  the 
centre  of  Kn;^lish  aj,'^'ression,  tin-  perpetual  nienaet^  to  French 
tloniinion  in  ( 'anaihi,  was  to  he  especially  <listin;^Miished  hy 
the  vi)n},'(!an(:(!  of  tho  (.'altinet  of  Versailles.  Boston  was  to  he 
(U'stroyod.  Indoed,  hor  defeu(;olos3  condition  invited  an  attack. 
Her  only  fortress  liad  boon  strii)pod  of  its  cannon  to  enabli^ 
Pepperell  to  l)atter  down  liOuisburg.  There  was  no  iJritish 
scpiadron  to  <lel'enil  it,  and  there  was  not  ii  single  15ritish  s(jI- 
dier  in  tho  whole  province. 

All  these  circumstances  boiuff  appreciated,  it  is  inipossilde  to 
cxag^'erate  the  consternation  witii  which  tho  certain  intellif,'enco 
of  the  escape  of  I)'Anville  was  received  at  J'xiston.  I'eople  stood 
a;^diast.  Tho  dan<,'er  was  indeed  imminent.  He  mi^dit  at  any 
moment  bo  expecte(l  to  annonnco  his  arrival  ujion  tho  coast 
witli  his  cannon.  Kngland,  says  Hutchinson,  was  not  more 
alarmed  with  the  Spanish  Armada,  than  won?  Boston  and  the 
other  North  American  seaports  hy  tho  hourly  expectation  (if  this 
truly  formidalile  (lotilla.  Brave  man  that  he  was,  (jovernor 
Shirley  prepared  to  meet  the  emor^'oncy  with  such  moans  as  he 
had.  liut  thoro  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  He  instantly  called 
out  a  levy  eii  iiuissi'.  Tho  scones  prcfceding  the  l.ouislmrg  expe- 
dition were  repeated  on  a  larger  scale.  Couriers  spurred  in  every 
direction  hearing  the  summons  to  arms,  and  everywhere  tiie 
bravo  yeomanry  responded  with  eager  ])romptitudo  to  tho  call, 
vit  night  tho  hills  l)lazed  with  b'nifires.  By  day  the  roads 
swarmed  with  armed  men  hastening  toward  Boston.  The  Com- 
mon became  a  camp.  All  husiness  except  that  of  repelling  the 
invader  was  at  an  end,  and  nothing  else  Avas  talked  of.  In  this 
activity  tho  people  a  little  recovered  from  the  panic  into  which 
they  had  at  first  been  thrown. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


'"'  IIIM  IIIIM 

^'    1112 


m 

\  JO 


2.0 


111= 

14    III  1.6 


<y 


^ 

''/// 


/a 


% 


c5. 


W 


Vl 


O 


7 


///. 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation  1 


M. 


■^ 


iV 


#> 


V 


\ 


\ 


1^ 


^9) 


\ 


A"' 


# 


^% 


6^ 


<^. 


% 


^^ 


<> 


"<?> 


1? 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


L<P 


Cp- 


i^. 


« 


T 


I 


74 


NEW-KNIILANI)    LE(;ENI)S. 


.1, 
I 


Wliile  the  people  were  iiwaitinj^'  in  Icverisli  anxiety  further 
news  of  the  licet,  ii  llsherman  came,  in  finni  seu,  who  said  that  he 
had  heen  hroiight  to  on  the  Xova  >Scotia  coast  hy  four  heavy 
ships  of  war.  'I'liey  re(piired  him  to  pilot  them  into  Chehucto, 
which  was  the  designatiMl  rendezvous  for  D'Anvillc's  tlcet.  While 
lyiu,:,'  t(i  under  the  <funs  of  one  of  these  ships,  Ik;  read  on  her 
stern  tlie  name  "  Le  Terrihle."  'J'lien,  a  I'ot,'  haviii,^  suddeidy 
.'/nut  them  in,  ho  had  succeeded  in  making  gootl  liis  e.sca])e,  and 
had  steered  directly  for  lio.ston  with  the  news. 

Hut  the  sjjlendid  lleet  of  D'Anville  was  destined  to  encounter 
a  .siM'ies  of  di.sa.sters  hardly  parallehnl  in  the  naval  annals  of 
France.  An  evil  destiny  pursued  it.  When  it  was  oil'  Capo 
Sahle,  it  experienced  violent  storms  that  scattered  and  dispersed 
it  heyond  the  power  of  reassenihling.  ConHans  with  four  .ships 
made  sail  f(ir  France  ;  others  steereil  for  the  West  Indies  ;  and 
.-I ill  others  were  drifting,  di.sahled  wrecks,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
winds  and  waves.  Finally  the  Duke  succeeded  in  getting  to  the 
rendezvous  witii  two  or  three  .ships  oidy  of  all  the  magnihcent 
s([uadron  that  had  sailed  from  lirest.  AVithin  a  week  he  died, 
it  is  hinted  from  the  elfect  of  poison  administered  hy  himself, 
he  choosing  death  ratlier  than  to  survive  the  di,sgraee  whic'h  had 
.so  suddenly  overwhelmed  him.  The  Vice-Admiral  then  ])ro- 
pcsed  that  the  remains  of  the  fleet  .shoidd  return  to  France. 
La  Jonquiere,  Governor-Gencu'al  of  Canada,  being  present  at  the 
Council,  warndy  opposed  this,  urging  that  the  fl(;et,  now  aug- 
mented hy  the  arrival  of  three  more  ships,  and  strengtheiieil  hy 
the  recovery  of  the  sick,  ought  to  strike  one  hlow  fi)i'  the  honor 
of  France.  He  begged  the  Vice-Admiral  to  attempt  at  least  the 
carrying  out  of  a  part  of  his  instructions.  These  arguments 
prevailing  with  the  Council,  D'Estournelles,  the  Vice-Admiral, 
finding  himself  oppo.sed  and  thwarted,  lost  his  head,  became 
delirious,  and  presently  put  an  end  to  his  life  by  falling  on  his 
own  sword.  The  commantl  then  devolved  on  La  Joncpiiere. 
The  troops  that  had  been  landed  were  re-embarked,  and  the 
fleet  sailed  to  attack  Annapolis;  but  it  again  meeting  with  a  dis- 
abling storm,  'his  enterprise  was  also  abandoned,  and  the  shat- 


I 


A    I5ALLA1)   OF   THE   FKENCII   FLEET. 


75 


tercd  remniinjt  of  U'An villi's  ariuaila  .steered  for  1  lanco.  Upon 
this  the  French  Canadian  forces  tlien  invading  Nova  Sc(jtia 
broke  up  their  camps  and  retreated  Tlie  hopes  of  tlio  French 
Ministry  liail  thus  been  (iverywhere  wreckeil. 

"When  these  events  became  known  in  Boston,  the  great  weight 
tliat  had  oj)pressed  the  iiunds  (jf  tlie  peojjle  was  so  suddenly 
lifted  off,  that  at  lirst  they  could  scarcely  n.'alize  tlic  chaug(\ 
When  they  did,  the  universal  joy  showed  itself,  not  in  noisy 
demonstrations,  l)ut,  in  the  true  Puritan  sijirit,  in  prayer  and 
thanksgiving.  Prayers  of  gratitude  wcmt  up  from  all  the  pul- 
pits ;  for  in  the  utter  destruction  of  D'Anville's  proud  lioet  by 
tlie  winds  and  waves  alone  was  seen,  on  every  side,  the  hand 
of  God  once  more  manifesting  itself,  as  in  the  old  days,  to  his 
peoi)le. 

In  this  spirit,  and  taking  these  truly  picturesque  incidents 
for  his  theme,  Longfellow  supposes  the  Jtev.  Thomas  Prince, 
then  pastor  of  the  Old  South  Cluirch  in  Boston,  to  bo  recounting 
them  to  his  congregation,  ascribing  to  the  power  of  prayer  the 
destruction  that  overtook  the  fleet  of  France. 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  FREXCH  FLEET. 

OOTOBEU,  1746. 

Mr.  Thom.v.s  Prixce  {loquitur). 

A  FLEET  with  flags  arrayed 

Sailed  Iroai  the  port  of  Brest, 
And  the  Aihniral's  ship  di.>^j)layed 

The  signal,  "  Steer  .southwest." 
For  this  Admiral  d'Auville 

Had  sworn  by  cross  and  crown 
To  ravage  witli  fire  and  steel 

Our  helpless  Boston  town. 

There  were  rumors  in  the  street. 

In  the  houses  there  was  fear 
Of  tl.i  coming  of  tlie  fleet. 

And  the  danger  hovering  near; 


I 


76 


'i^ 


NEW-EN(iLANIi    LKdE XDS. 

And  wliilc!  IVoiii  iiinutli  to  mouth 
Spread  the  tidiii^'s  df  di.snuiy, 

I  stood  ill  till'  Old  South, 
Sayiiij,'  liumlily,  "  Let  us  pfuy  ' 

"O  Jiord  !  wo  would  not  advise  j 

But  if  in  tliy  pi'ovidL'Uce 
A  toinpost  sliould  arise 

To  drive  tlie  Frciudi  licet  hence, 
And  scatter  it  far  and  wide, 

Or  siidi  it  in  the  sea, 
We  sliould  be  satisfied, 

And  thine  the  .t^dory  he." 

This  was  the  prayer  1  made, 

Kor  my  soul  was  all  on  ilamo  ; 
And  even  as  I  pi'ayed, 

Tiie  answerin,i,f  tempest  came,  — 
It  canu!  witii  a  mighty  power, 

Shakiiif,'  the  windows  and  walls, 
And  tollini,'  tlie  hull  in  the  tower 

As  it  tolls  at  funerals. 

"  •  •  •  • 

The  fleet  it  overtook. 

And  tile  hroad  sails  in  the  van 
Like  tlie  tents  of  ("ushan  shook, 

Or  the  curtains  of  Midian. 
Down  on  the  reeliiiL,^  decks 

Crashed  the  oVrwIielniiu^i,' seas; 
Ah  !   never  were  there  wrecks 

So  pitiful  as  lliese  ! 

Tike  u  potter's  vessel  broke 

The  <,'reat  ships  of  tlie  line  ; 
They  were  carried  away  as  a  smoke, 

Or  sank  like  lead  in  the  brine. 
0  Lord !  before  thy  path 

They  vanished,  a!id  ceased  to  be, 
When  thou  didst  walk  in  wrath 

With  thine  horses  through  the  sea  ! 


; 


*ll; 


pi 

In 


I 


CIIKIST   CllL'KGlI. 


77 


CHRIST    CHURCH. 

EDWIN   B.    RUSSELL, 

Gray  si)iie,  tlmt  I'loiii  the  iiucii'iit  street 
Tliu  eyes  ut'  reverent  pilgrims  jjjieet, 
As  by  thy  bells  their  steps  ure  led, 


CHKIST   CHURCH. 


Thou  liftest  up  thy  voice  to-day, 
Silvery  and  sweet,  yet  strong  as  aye, 
Above  the  livin''  and  the  dead. 


78 


NEW-ENtiLAND   LEGENDS. 


i     t 


I  Bi.| 


i 


I  I 


1  f 


Beiiuath  tliy  InwiT,  how  vast  tliu  throng 
That  ihovimI  tluoiigh-iMiirli  and  aisle  along 

Tliu  lioly  fane,  the  galleried  height; 
As  years  came  in,  and  years  went  ont, 
With  s()l>  (if  woe,  or  joyfnl  slionl. 

Witli  reiinieni  rest,  or  anlheni  Ijriglit. 

Old  faees  haunt  tlie  anciiut  i>ew. 
And  in  tlie  organdoft  renew 

Tlie  sacred  stiain  of  earlier  times, 
Wiien  kniglit  and  dame  in  worshij)  lient, 
And  from  their  lii)s  tlie  homage  sent 

Tliat  mingled  with  the  answering  chimes. 

And  licre  the  patriot  hung  liis  light. 

Which  shone  thntugii  all  that  anxious  night, 

To  eager  eyes  of  I'aul  Revere. 
There,  in  the  dark  chnrchyard  below. 
The  dead  Past  wakened  not,  to  know 

liow  changed  the  wcnld,  that  night  of  fear. 

The  angels  on  thy  gallery  soai', 
The  Saviour's  face  thine  altar  o'er 

Is  there,  as  in  the  elder  tlay. 
The  royal  silver  yet  doth  shine, 
And  holds  the  pledge  of  love  divine, 

That  cannot  change,  nor  pass  away. 


1^ 


if: 

If-' 


m 


PAUL  REVERE'S   RIDE. 

1775. 

IX  Boston  the  first  inquiry  that  every  stranger  makes  is  for 
Bunker  Hill ;  the  next  is  to  be  directed  to  the  old  churcli 
where  the  lanterns  were  hung  out  on  the  night  before  the  battles 
of  Lexington  and  Conconl. 

At  nearly  every  hour  of  the  day  some  one  may  be  seen  in  tlie 
now  unfrequented  street  looking  up  at  the  lofty  spire  Avith  an 


I'AUL    UKVEKES    [HUE. 


7'J 


('.\l»i'es.si(iii  of  ileop  Kiiti.siUctioii,  us  if  .suuii'  loiig-cliemliod   wi.-sli 
had  111  lu8t  lieoii  accoiuijlislictl. 

\\  liilu  lie  is  (Miili'iiVdi'iii.L,'  to  iuiiuvss  tiio  appearance  of  the 
vciuTulilc  slnicluiv  updu  liis  memory,  the  [lilgrim  to  liistoric 
siiriiu's  s(!cs  that  u  tablet,  with  an  inscription  cnt  upon  it,  is 
inihcihlcd  in  tin;  old,  but  still  suliil,  masonry  of  tlie  tower  front. 
Sal(  ni  Sirtcl  is  so  nari'ow  that  Iw.  has  no  dillicidty  whatever  in 
rcadiii--  ii  In.m  tin,  curlistone  across  tlu!  way,  winch  he  does 
slowly  and  attentively.  iJostonians  all  know  it  by  heart.  Thus 
it  riuis  :  — 

THE   SKJNAL  I,ANTKUNS   OK 

I'.vrr,  i;i:vKUi;, 

l>ISl'l,AVi:i»    IN    TUK    STKKIM.K   OK  TJIIS    (  IU-I!('U, 

Al'Itll,    18,    177.-;, 

WAUNKI)   TUE   COlNTirV   or   TJIK    MAIU'U 

OK   TUK    liltlTlSlI   TUOOI'S 

TO    I.K\IN(;roN    AM)   COXCOlil). 

This  inscription,  then,  has  constituted  Christ  Church,  in  elfect, 
a  monument  to  Paul  lievere  and  his  famous  exj.loit.  The  poet 
Longfellow  has  given  him  anotiier. 

No  stranger  enters  this  neighborhood  who  does  not  get  the 
impression  that  he  has  somewii /re,  unknown  to  himself,  walked 
out  of  the  2sineteenth  Century  into  the  Eighteenth. 

The  whole  neighborhood  is  in  a  languishing  state,  thougii  (piito 
in  kt'cping  with  the  softened  feeling  that  always  conies  over  one 
in  such  retired  corners.  For  here  ho  has  full  liberty  to  lose  him- 
self, undisturhed  either  liy  noise  or  hustle,  and  he  can  ipuetly 
enjoy  the  seclusion  needful  forgetth'g  into  a  frame  of  mind  proper 
to  the  associations  of  the  spot.  Yet,  strange  as  it  now  seems, 
this  was  once  a  fashionahh;  quarter  of  the  town,  althougli  that 
was  long  ago,  and  traces  of  the  old-timis  gentility  an;  still  api)arent 
here  and  there  to  the  eye  of  the  wanderer  up  and  doAvn  the  de- 
serted thoroughfares.  In  point  of  fact,  iiotwithstanding  it  is  one 
of  the  oldest  divisions  of  the  old  city,  the  whole  North  End  has 
lagged  full  half  a  century  behind  the  other  .sections,  —  so  far, 
indeed,  that  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  will  ever  overtake  them. 
This  old  church,  with  its  venerable  chimes,  the  armorial  tomb- 


in 


80 


Ni:W-ENGLANl)    LEUENDS. 


II  r, 


i 


stones  on  Copp's  Hill  abovo  it,  ami  suudry  antiquated  inansiona 
in  anticpiuti'il  lanes,  arc  tlio  silent  witnostjus  tu  thu  fact  that  the 
uoigiiborhuncl  has  really  seen  better  days. 

We  have  devoted  so  much  space  to  the  locality  because  it  was 
the  birthplace  and  home  of  Paul  lievere. 

At  the  time  df  his  memoralde  ride,  Paul  lievere  was  forty 
years  old,  and  was  living  in  the  neighborhood  where  he  M'as 
burn.  Though  he  was  brought  up  to  the  tiuile  of  a  goldsmith, 
Pevere  was  one  of  those  skilful  mechanics  who  can  turn  their 
hands  to  many  things,  and  havijig  already  l(!arned  to  engrave  on 
silver,  he  took  up  and  soon  began  to  be  kuDwn  as  an  engraver 


ri 


.i'l> 


m 


1 


BOSTON  TROM  ■niiEEn's  UII.I.,  nsi. 

on  copper-plate,  in  which  art  he  accpiinnl  a  rude  jiroficicncy. 
Eevcre,  like  most  of  his  class,  went  heart  and  soul  with  the 
Whigs  when  the  troubles  with  the  mothei-  country  drew  men  to 
one  or  the  other  side  ;  and  ho  very  soon  became  one  of  the  most 
active  and  daring  spirits  of  a  secret  organization,  composed  of 
men  like  himself,  who  had  sworn  on  the  Bible  not  to  betray 
each  other,  and  whose  purpose  was  to  spy  out  and  defeat  the 
measures  of  the  British  Governor-General,  cost  what  it  might. 
These  men  knew  nothing  and  cared  nothing  about  the  tricks  of 
diplomacy.  They  were  simply  anxious  to  decide  all  outstanding 
questions  by  blows,  the  sooner  the  better. 

Their  meetings  were  li^d  and  their  plans  concerted  at  the 


I'AUL  i;i:vki;k  s  ihdk. 


81 


(Jri'cii  l)ra,^'()ii  Tiiverii  in  Vwum  Slroul.  Tliisy  woro  directud 
liiiw  to  act  I'ur  the  interests  of  the  eomiuon  cause  by  Adams 
llaiicuck,  Warren,  and  one  or  twu  others  of  the  aekuowh;d^'ei 
leaders.  Uetweon  Warren  and  Revere  th(!ro  yrow  up  a  syni 
patliy  so  especially  close  an<l  iiiliniatc,  that  when  Adams  ant 
liaiicock  left  il,  and  AVarreii  alone  remained  to  (iliserve  aiu 
dirert  events  in  the  town,  Kevere  became  his  chosen  lieut(;nant 
Tills  brinixs  us  to  the  (svent  recorded  in  the  inscrijitioii. 

Tbi'   Province  of  ^rassachusetts  was  on  the  verne  of  open  re 
volt.     It  had  I'ormed  an  army,  commissioned  its  officers,  and  pro 


SIGN    Of   TIIK    CREKN    nRAGON. 


luulgated  orders  as  if  there  were  no  such  person  as  (jleorgc  III.  It 
was  collecting  stores,  cannon,  and  muskets,  in  anticipation  of  the 
moment  when  this  army  should  take  the  field.  It  had,  moreover, 
given  due  notice  to  the  Ihitish  general-in-chief,  as  well  as  the 
rest  of  mankind,  that  the  iirst  movement  into  the  country  made 
by  the  royal  troops  in  force  would  be  considered  as  an  act  of  hos- 
tility and  treated  as  such.  If  this  was  not  raising  the  standard 
of  open  rebellion,  it  certainly  was  something  very  like  it. 

The  King  liad  sent  General  Gage  to  Boston  to  put  down  the 
rebellion  there,  and  he  had  i)romised  to  do  it  with  four  bat- 
talions.    He  was  now  in  Boston  with  a  small  army.     Yet  he 

0 


:! 


ir 


82 


Ni';\v-i;N(;r,.vxi>  LWiKXDs. 


t=i 


1,1 


hcsitati-'l  to  act.  NrithiT  iiaity  Wdiilil  recede  an  iiidi,  yet  i>n 
both  sitlod  tlio  coinniissioii  ni'  an  overt  act  whiili  any  iiuiiiieiit 
nii,L;lit  iirecipitate  war  was  awaited  in  the  utmost  suspeiiso  and 
dread. 

At  lengtli  (Jeneral  <Ja,L,'e  resulved  to  strike  a  crippling  blow, 
and  it  jiossililc  to  do  it  without  bloodshed. 

The  prini 'pal  (h^pot  u\'  liie  patriots  was  I'lirniing  at  ( 'oncord, 
in  till'  Cnuiity  of  Middlesex,  about  twenty  miles  I'roni  itoston, 
wlu're  it  was  considered  ipiite  .sai'e  from  any  suddciu  dash  by  the 
royal  troop.s,  GiMieral  Gage  was  kt'pt  thoroughly  informed  l)y 
his  spies  of  what  was  going  on,  and  he  determineil  to  send  a 
secret  exiieditimi  to  destroy  thos(\  stores.  The  patriots,  on  their 
side,  knew  that  sinnelhiiig  was  in  agitation,  and  it  was  no  diili- 
cult  matter  jnr  tliciii  to  gue.ss  what  was  its  real  [lurpurt  and  aim. 
Still,  so  long  as  these  remaiMe(l  in  doubt,  they  were  anxious 
and  fearlul  and  restless.  They,  however,  redouMed  their  vigi- 
lance. All  the  landing-places  of  the  town,  tlu;  soldiers'  bar- 
racks, and  even  the  i'lMviiice  Mouse  itself,  were  closely  watched, 
while  guards  were  regularly  kept  in  all  th(i  surrounding  towns, 
promptly  to  give  the  alarm  whenever  the  head  of  a  IJritish  col- 
umn should  appear.  General  Gage  held  the  capital  of  the  prov- 
ince, but  outside  of  its  gates  his  orders  could  be  executed  only 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 

Fully  appreciating  the  importance  of  secrecy.  General  Gage 
qnietly  got  reaily  eight  hundred  picked  troops,  which  he  meant 
to  convey  under  cover  of  the  nigh.t  across  the  M'cst  l)ay,  and 
to  land  on  the  Cambridge  side,  thus  ballling  the  vigilance  of 
the  townspeople,  and  at  the  same  time  considerably  shortening 
the  <listanco  his  troo2)s  would  have  to  march.  So  much  jiains 
was  taken  to  keep  their  actual  destination  a  profound  secret,  that 
even  the  officer  who  was  selected  for  the  command  only  received 
an  onlcr  notifying  him  to  hold  himself  in  readiness.  The  guards 
in  the  town  were  doubled,  and,  in  order  to  intercept  any  couriers 
who  might  slip  through  them,  at  the  proper  moment  mounted 
patrols  were  sent  out  on  tlu;  roads  leading  to  Concord.  Having 
done  what  he  could  to  prevent  intelligence  from  reaching  the 


I 


I'AIJL   UKVKUK'rt    lilDH. 


83 


country,  and  to  koo[.  tlio  town  .luiet,  tho  British  (Joncrul  gavo 
lii.s  orders  for  the  cniliiirkutioii ; 
luid  iit  lii'twccn  ten  and  cliiven 
of  the  ni,L,r|it  of  April   iJStli  tho 
troops  destined  fcr  this  service 
Wen;  taken   across   tho  hay  in 
h(iats    to    tho    ('and)rid,L;(!    .sido 
of  tho  rivor.     At  this  |,niir  ids 
piekets   weri!   ^Uiinlin^'  tlie  de- 
serted   roads   leadin-'   into   the 
eonntry,  and  up  to  (his  inoiueni 
no  patriot  courier  Iiad  ,i,'onuout. 
Tlie  ( leneral  had  tlius  <'<it  a  hn\<' 
start  nf  tiic  patriots.     15ut  their 
vi^^ilaiice    detected     tlie    niove- 
iiient   as  soon  as  it  was  niaih'. 
As    hiird    I'urcy  was   returning' 
from    an    interview   witli   (len- 
eral (ia-e,  he  met  -roups  uf  tlie 
townspeoplo   talking    excitedly 
together,  and  upon  g(.iiig  near 
enough  to  overhear  tho  suhject 
of   conversation,   one,   of   them 
said  to    him    dehantly :    "  The 
Uritish   troops  liave    niarclied, 
but  tliey  will  miss  their  aim." 
"What    aimr'    asked    the 
Earl. 

"  The  caimoii  at   Concord," 
was  the  reply. 

Percy  instantly  retraced  his 
steps  tf)  the    Province    House. 
After  listening  in  silence  to  his 
report,  the  General  hroke  out  with,  "Then  I  have  been  betrayed ' " 

It  IS  now  believed  that  a  member  of  the  General's  own  house- 
hold was   the  medium  through  which  his   secret  had  become 


GRENADIKR,  1775. 


RT 


H4 


NKW-KN(iLANM>  LK(;KNI)S. 


i 


known  to  the  ivlids.  Their  (litticiilty  now  wiis  to  irnnsiiiit  tlin 
nnws  scasonivlilv,  tn  prrvcnt  tlic  Inss  of  tin'  provincial  nia^azint'.s. 
Tliorc,  wore  only  two  modes  of  ('j,'rcs.s  from  the  town,  one  licjn;,'  by 
till'  old  fciTy  1o  Cliarlcslown,  the  other  hy  tlie  ih'cU  conncctin.L,' 
iioslon  with  the  maiidand,  whirh  was  only  wide  enoni^h  I'or  a 
sin;4le  road.  The  ieny-laiidin^'  was  kei»t  hy  a  sulialtem's  ^'uard, 
and  it  was  commaiideil  liy  the  halteries  of  a  frii^ate  anijioivil 
oir  in  the  stream.  The  road  was  Mocked  l>y  a  i'oitress  extend- 
ing across  it,  the  gates  of  which  were  shnt  at  a  certain  honr, 
aft(^r  which  no  one  could  pass  in  or  out  except  by  order  of  the 
(ienoral  liimself. 

To  jirovide  against  this,  Revere,  only  a  day  or  two  earlier,  had 
concerted  signals  whidi  should  apprise  his  friends  in  Charles- 
towu  whenever  a  movement  of  troops  was  actually  taking  jjlace. 
When  these  signals  sliould  he  displayed,  the  ■watchful  patriots 
there  knew  what  they  had  to  do. 

The  signals  agreed  upon  were  lights  to  he  shown  from  the 
hclfry  of  the  North  Church:  two  if  the  troops  went  out  hy 
water,  and  one  if  by  land.  The  redcoats  had  scarcely  got  into 
their  boats,  when  Warren  sent  in  great  haste  fin*  Paul  Itevere 
and  AVilliam  Dawes.  He  knew  that  the  crisis  had  now  come. 
Telling  lliein  in  two  words  that  the  soldiers  had  .started,  and 
that  he  feared  they  meant  to  seize  the  patriot  leaders,  Hancock 
and  Adams,  he  desj)atchcd  Revere  by  the  way  of  Charlestown, 
and  Dawes  by  the  great  high-road  over  the  Xeck.  In  this 
way,  sliould  one  bo  sto])ped,  the  other  ndght  elude  t;he  vigi- 
lance of  the  sentinels  and  succeed  in  getting  through  th(!  lines. 
With  the  jiarting  injunction  in  their  ears,  not  to  lo.se  a  moment, 
the  two  patriots  started  on  the  most  momentous  errand  of  the 
century. 

Revere  first  went  to  a  friend  ami  requested  him  to  show  the 
signal,  one  lantern  in  the  (diurch  belfry.  He  then  went  home, 
hurried  on  his  riding-boots  and  surtout,  and  having  picked  up 
two  friends  and  a  boat,  the  three  stealthily  rowed  across  the 
river,  passing  v  iseen  under  the  muzzles  of  the  frigate's  guns 
that  guarded  the  ferry. 


I'AII,    lIKVKIiHS    IMUK. 


85 


L('ii[miL,'  nil  sliorc,  li'cvoiv  Ifiuiii'tl  tliut  liis  sij^'tial  Ii;nl  lucn 
accii  mill  muli'i'slnod.  At  that  very  iiioini'iit  its  waiiiiiig  Ihmius 
sh(tiii)  tVoin  lliti  ilistaiit  tdwcr.  A  llci't  Imrsc  was  (luickly  sadiUud 
ami  ln'iillcil  I'lii'liiiii  to  iiiniint.  IJcvitc  si'I/imI  the  l)iiilli',  juiii|m'(1 
iiitii  till'  .NiiUllt',  ami  .sptirifd  dil'  al  the  U>\<  nl'  his  speed  I'm'  l-cx- 
iii^tnii,  U'li  miles  away,  wIu'Iv  llaiicdek  ami  Adams,  uiieoiisciiuis 
nt"  daii,i;er,  were  then  asleep  in  tiicir  lieds.  |)aWL'S,  tun,  had  f'ur- 
tuiiaU'ly  succeeded  in  evadini,'  the  sentinels,  so  that  the  two  were 
How,  ill  the  dead  of  niyht,  ^MJlopiii;^'  on  like  iiiesscngia's  of  fato, 
not  sparing'  citlicr  whip  or  spur,  and  each  nerveil  by  thi'  iniini- 
iient  J  1  ol'  the  muuioiit  to  do  or  dare  everythin;^'  lor  the,  sal- 
vation ol'  friuiuls  and  country.  Keven^  had  hardly  got  idear  of 
Charlestown  when  u  horseman  suddenly  barreil  his  passage. 
Another  rodo  up,  then  a  third,  lie  had  ridden  headlong  into 
the  midst  of  the  lUilish  patrol!  They  closed  in  upon  hiui. 
But  llevorc  was  not  the  man  to  he  thus  taken  in  a  1114)  without 
a  struggle,  lie  ([uiekly  pulled  up,  turm:d  his  horse's  hi'ad,  dug 
the  spurs  into  his  Hanks,  and  dashed  oil'  into  a  hy-road  with  the 
])atrol  iit  his  heels.  IJeing  the  better  mounted,  he  soon  ilistanced 
his  pursuers,  and  in  te'i  minutes  more  rode  into  Medford,  shout- 
ing like  a  niudmau  at  every  house  he  came  to,  "  T''p  and  arm  ! 
rp  and  arm!  The  regulars  are  out!  The  regulars  are  out'" 
He  awoke  the  rajitain  of  the  minute-men,  told  his  startling  story 
in  a  lireath,  and  before  the  shrill  neighing  of  the  excited  steed  or 
the  shouts  of  tlit;  rider  had  grown  faint  in  tlio  distance,  the  iMed- 
ford  bells  began  to  ring  out  their  wild  alarm.  When  Iievere  en- 
tered it,  the  town  was  as  still  as  the  grave  ;  he  left  it  in  an  uproar. 

The  regulars  were  indeed  out ;  but  where  ?  By  tliis  time  they 
should  have  been  well  advanced  on  their  march,  had  not  an 
excess  of  caution  ruined  at  the  outset  every  chance  of  surprising 
the  Provincials.  Possibly  to  prevent  the  expedition's  getting 
wind,  instead  of  furnishing  the  troo[)S  with  rations  befiM-e  start- 
ing, they  had  been  cooked  on  Ixiard  the  fleet,  and  jiut  into  the 
boats  furnished  by  the  different  ships  of  war.  After  landing 
upon  the  Cambridge  marshes,  and  after  flounilering  through 
water  up  to  the  kn(;e,  to  the  shore,  the  royal  troops  were  kept 


m 


so 


I;! 


' ':    :( 


in: 


IT: 


NKW-KNGLAND   LE("1P:NDS. 


drawn  up  in  a  dirty  l)y-M)ad   until  two  o'clock  in  tlu;  nioi'ning, 

waiting  for  their  provisions  to  bo  Ijronylit 

from  th(!  bouts  and  distributed.     'J'o  lose 

hours  when  minutes  counted  for  hours 

was   fatal.      The  tluec;  tiius  idled  away 

decided  the  fate  of  the  1       'diticm.    TIk; 

Ih'itish  grenadiers  were  .ilill  shivering 

on   tl'.e  spot  where  they  disctmliarkiHl, 

when  llevre,  after  raising  the  country 

in  arms,  rode  into  Lexington.     It  was 

just  midnight  when  he  dismounted  at 

the  iloor  where  iiaiicock  and 

Adams  were  asleep.     He  saw 

that  he  was  in  \ 

time.   A  patriot  _  A^ '■■r. 


KKVKKK    AROUSING    TTTK   MINUTE-MAN. 

guard   was   statiijned   outside.      The  drowsy  sergeant   sliarply 
admonitl^od  Revere  to  make  less  noise,  or  he  would  disturb  the 


PAUL    REVERE'S   RIDE 


87 


liousuh..l(l.  "  :soise  !  "  exclaimed  the  thoroughly  nxcited  ];(>- 
vere;  "  you ':i  have  noise  enough  before  long.  The  regulars 
are  t)ut !  "     He  was  then  admitted. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  liour  the  other  express  arrived,  and  the 
two  rebel  leaders  being  now  fully  ('(jnvinced  that  Concord  was 
tlu!  Ihreuteiied  point,  after  allowing  the  bokUiders  the  time  to 
swallow  a  few  mouthfuls,  hurried  them  on  to  Concord.  Adams 
did  not  believe  that  Cage  would  send  an  army  merely  to  take 
two  men  [.risoners.     To  him  the  true  object  was  very  clear. 

Jievere,  Dawes,  and  young  Dr.  Prescott  of  Concord,  who  had 
j<tinetl  tliem,  had  got  over  half  the  distance,  when  at  a  sud.leii 
turning  they  saw  in  the  gray  light  a  group  of   dusky  ligures 
iiUing  the  road  ;    at  the  same  instant  they  heai'd  the  sharp  com- 
mand   to    halt.     It  was  a  second  patrol,    ai'uied  to  the    teeth. 
Prescott  leaped  his  horse  over  the  r(jadsi(le  wall,  and  so  escaped 
across   the  iiel.ls  to  Concord.     Pu'vere,  .seeing  the   muzzle  of  a 
l)i.stol  covering  him  with  sure  aim,  gave  himself  up,  with  the 
better  grace  now  that  one  of  tjie  party  had  got  clear.     Dawes  did 
the  same  thing.     An  officer  then  put  his  cocked  pistol  to  Re- 
ven-'s  head,  telling  him  that  he  would  scatter  his  brains  in  the 
road  if  lui  did  not    make  tru-  answers.      His  business  on  the 
road  at  that  hour  was  then  demanded.      Jle  was  told,  in  return, 
to  listen  ;  when,  through  the  still  morning  air,  coming  distinct 
and  threatening,  the  ilistant  booming  of  the  alarmdjells,   i)eal 
upon  peal,  was  borne  to  their  ears.     Ji(!vere  then  l)oldly  avowed 
his  errand  to  be  what  it  was,  significantly  adding  that  the  coun- 
try below  was  up  in  arms.    Another  prisoner  told  the  patrol  that 
they  were  all  dead  men.     It  was  the  Britons  who  were  now  un- 
ea.sy.     One  of  the  rebel  couriers  had  e.scap.ed  them  ;  the  country 
below  them  was  up  ;  and  there  was  no  news  of  the  troops.    Order- 
ing the  prisoners  to  follow  them,  the  troop  rode  olf  at  a  gallop 
toward  Lexington,  and  when  they  w(;re  at  the  edge  of  the  vil- 
lage Kevere  was  told  to  ilismount,  and  was  then  left  to  shift  for 
Jninself.     He  ran  as  last  as  his  legs  could  carry  him    across  the 
pastures,  l)ack  to  the  parsonage,  to  rejjort  liis  misadventure,  while 
the  patrol  galloped  olf  toward  iJojton  to  announce  theirs. 


88 


N K\V-KN( iLA N D    LI'XiENDS. 


By  this  time  tlic  niiiuiti'-uiL'ii  ol'  Lcxin^loii  liml  ralliicl  to  up- 
jiuse  tluMiiarch  of  tlie  trcidjis.  Al  tliis  limu'  thu  alann  liiul  .spread 
tlu'uiigluiut  till!  .smTduiiding  cuiiuti'y  ;  and  it  wa.s  still  resound- 
ing, still  extending  <in  every  side,  and  multiplying  itsell'  like  a 
destroying  conilagration  swept  funvanl  liy  the  winds.  In  two 
hours  more  the  whole  I'mvinee  was  in  llames.  Thanks  to  the  in- 
trepidity of  Paul  Uevoro  the  goldsmith,  instead  of  surprising  the 
rehels  in  their  Ijeds,  the  redcoats  found  them  marshalled  on  Lex- 
ington Green,  at  Concord  Bridge,  in  front,  Hank,  and  roar,  armed 
and  ready  to  ilisi)ute  their  march  to  the  hitter  end. 

At  five  in  the  morning  his  Majesty's  troo[)s  hy  command  liri'il 
upon  and  killed  a  nundici'  (jf  the  citizen  soldiers  at  Lexington  ; 
they  theu  gave  three  loud  and  triuni[)iiant  cheiirs  for  the  vic- 
tory. At  live  in  the  evening  (jleneral  Gage  knew  that  this 
volley  had  been  discharg(;d  over  the  grave  of  his  master's  Ameri- 
can empire,  which  he  had  promised  to  j'l'cserve  Avilh  four  bat- 
talions ;  the  yecjmanry  of  one  county  only  had  chased  si.x  of 
tliem  back  to  their  (piarters. 

From  this  narration  it  a[)pcars  tliat  it  M'as  not  the  signal,  but 
JJeverc  himself  who  "  warned  the  country  of  the  march  of  the 
British  troops."  Yet  had  he  faih.'d,  the  result  would  probably 
luive  been  the  same,  thanks  to  his  promptitude  and  his  invention 
in  this  liistoric  emergency.  Mr.  Longfellow  in  his  famous  ballad 
so  arranges  the  scene  as  to  make  Revere  impatiently  watching  for 
the  signal-light  to  appear.     Eevere  was  the  signal. 


Ill 


PAUL   IJEVEKE'8   BIDE. 


• 


VI 


Listen,  my  children,  and  yon  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight   ride  of  Paul  Bc'vere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five  ; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remendiers  that  i'amous  day  and  year. 

He  saiil  to  his  friend,  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  iVom  the  town  to-night, 


light, 


laiiii, 


I'AUL  im:vi:i;i;'s  ini»K, 

Hang  a  lantern  alolt  in  l\w  hcllrv  aicli 
Of  the  N,.rth  Chmvh  U,^yvv  as  a^i.nK.l 
Om;  1 1  by  land,  uirI  t\v.,,  if  hy  sea- 
And  I  on  the  ()i.i)()sit(;  s]i„ro  will  ],(•', 
Ready  to  vuk'  and  sj.icad  the  alarm  ' 
Thi'ongh  every  Middlesex  village  a 
F.M'  the  eountry  lolk   to  1h.  „,rand  to  ann." 

1  iK.a  he.  said  -'Good  nigh,  I  •'  and  with  muflled  oar 

Silently  rowed  to  the  ("harlestown  sh<.re, 

Just  aa  the  moon  rose  over  the  hav 

Where  swingi,...  wide  at   lu.r  m„<,rings  lay 

J  lie  -Somerset,"  ]>.,.itish  man-ol'-war  ; 

A  phantom  shij,,  with  each  mast  an<l  spar 

Across  iIh.  mo„n  like  a  prison  1,ar, 

And  a  huge  Mark  hulk,  that   was  magnified 

Jiy  Its  owii  reliction  in  the  tid.-. 


89 


.? 


Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ri.Ie 
Boote.l  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride' 
On  the  ..pposit..  shore  walke.l   Paul   HeNere 
^"^^•  he  patted  his  horse's  side 
Now  ga.e,i  at  the  landscape  Ikr  and  near, 
liien,  nnpetuous,  stamped  the  earth, 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth  ; 
Lut  mostly  1,,.  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  It  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  Iiill, 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  sti'ii. 
And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfrv's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns. 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns  I 


A  hurry  of  hools  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  Inilk  in  the  dark. 

And  beneath,  from  the  j.ebblcs,  in  passing,  a  spark 

btruck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet  • 

That  was  all !     Ami  yet,  through  the  glocm  aud'the  li^dit 


I 


r 


•4! 


90  new-enoland  legends. 

The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  tliat  niylit ; 

And  llio  s)iiiiiv  struck  out  1)y  that  stued,  in  his  flight, 

Kindled  the  land  into  tUune  with  its  heat. 


It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weallu'i'coidc 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed, 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare. 

As  if  the}^  already  stood  agliast 

At  tlui  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 


You  know  the  ix'st.     In  tlie  books  you  have  read, 
J  low  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
ilow  the  farmers  gave  them  l)all  for  ball. 
From  beiiind  each  fence  and  farmyard  wall, 
Chasing  the  redcoats  down  the  lane, 
Tlien  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  ti'ees  at  the  tuDi  of  tin-  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  tire  and  load. 


PETER  RUGG,   THE  MISSING   MAN. 


BY  WILLIAM  AUSTIN. 


(From  Jonathan  Dunvcll  of  AV?r  }'))•/,•  to  Mr.  Herman  Krnuff.) 

QIIIi,  —  Agreeably  to  my  promise,  I  now  relate  to  you  all 
^  the  particulars  of  the  lost  man  and  child  which  I  have 
been  able  to  collect.  It  is  entirely  owing  to  the  humane  inter- 
est you  seemed  to  take  in  the  report  that  I  have  pursued  the 
inquiry  to  the  following  result. 


PETER   UUCd,   THE   AIISSINd   MAN. 


91 


»  < 


^  ou  may  reim,.iul...r  tliat  husinoss  called  we  to  Boston  in  the 
.summer  .,1'  ks-O.  I  .sailed  in  the  paeket  to  Provi.lenee ;  and 
wIh'U  1  armed  then-  1  Earned  that  every  .seat  in  the  staye  was 
en-aged.  I  wa.s  thus  ohlig.d  either  to  wait  a  few  hours,  or  ac- 
cept a  seat  with  the  driver,  who  civilly  oJlennl  me  that  ueeom- 
niodation.  A.'cordinoly  1  took  my  .seat  l,y  his  side,  and  soon 
lound  hun  intelligent  and  eommunicative.  When  we  had  trav- 
elled about  ten  miles,  the  horses  sud.lenly  threw  their  ears  <.n 
their  necks  i ,  flat  as  a  hare's.  Said  the  driver,  "  Have  you  a 
surtout  with  j'ou?" 

"  Xo,"  said  I ;  "  wliy  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  You  will  want  one  soon,"  .said  he.      "  Do  you  observe  the 
ears  of  all  the  horses  ] " 

"  Yes  ; "  and  was  just  about  to  ask  the  reason. 
"They  see  the  storm-breeder,  and  we  shall  .sec  him  soon." 
At  this  moment  there  was  ntjt  a  cloud  visible  in  the  firma- 
ment ;  soon  after  a  small  speck  appeared  in  the  road. 

"There,"  .sai.l  my  companion,  "comes  the  .storm-breeder; 
he  always  leaves  a  Scot('h  mi.st  behind  him.  IJy  many  a  wet 
jac^'ot  do  T  rem,'mber  him.  I  suppo.se  the  poor^  fellow  suflei's 
much  himself  — much  m.)re  than  is  known  to  the  world." 

Presently  a  man  with  a  child  beside  him,  with  a  large  black 
liorse  and  a  weather-beaten  chair,  once  built  for  a  chaFse-body, 
passed  m  great  haste,  aj-parently  at  the  rate  of  twelve  nnles  an 
hour.     Ho  seemed  to  grasp  the  reins  of  his  horse  with  firmness, 
and  appeared  to  anticipate  his  speed.     He  seemed  dejected,  and 
l^'oked  anxiously  at  the  passengers,  particularly  at  the  stage-driver 
■i>'d  myself     Tn  a  moment  after  he  pas.sed  us,  the  horses'  ears 
were  up,  an.l  bent  themselves  forward  so  that  they  nearly  met 
"  Who  is  that  man  ? "  .said  I ;  "  he  .seems  in  greltt  trouble  " 
"Nobody  knows  who  he  is  ;  but  his  person  an.l  the  chil.l  are 
fann bar  to  me.     1  have  met  him  more  than  a  luindred  tin.es, 
and  have  been  .so  often  asked  the  way  to  Boston  by  that  man 
even  when  he  was  travelling  directly  from  that  town,  that  of 
late  I  have  refused  any  communi.-ation  with  him ;  and  that  is 
the  reason  he  gave  me  such  a  fixed  look." 


i 


o 

H 

in 
Q 


a 
e 

o 
a 

Pi 

H 


I'KTKK    KltiC,    TIIK    .MISSIN(;    MAN. 


93 


; 


"  IJllt  (Iocs  lie  Mcvcr  slnji  aiiywlu'l't'  /  ' 

"  I  liiivc  never  kiKiwii  liiiu  to  stoi)  anywlicru  loiiytT  tlu'ii  to 
iiiijiiire  the  wiiy  to  llnstoii.  Ami  let  liiiu  be  wliero  lie  may,  he 
will  tt  11  yoii  he  eiuiiiot  .stay  a  luoinent,  i'or  he  must  reach  JJostoii 
thai,  iii-ht." 

We  \vt!i'(i  iKJW  asceiiiliiig  a  hi;^li  hill  in  Walpole, ;  and  as  we 
had  u  fair  view  of  the.  heavens,  I  was  ratlier  disposed  to  Jeer 
the  driver  for  thinking  of  his  surtoiit,  as  not  a  ehmd  us  hig  as 
a  marblu  could  l)c  discerned. 

"Do  you  look,"  said  he,  "in  the  direction -wheneo  the  man 
came  ;  that  is  the  place  to  look.  The  .storm  never  meets  him. 
it  follows  him." 

Wo  ])resently  apin'oached  another  hill  ;  and  when  at  the 
lieight  the  driver  pointeil  out  in  an  eastern  direction  a  little 
black  .speck  about  as  big  as  a  hat,  —  "There,"  said  lie,  "is  tlu; 
seed  storm ;  avc  may  ])os.siljly  reach  I'olley's  before  it  reaches 
us,  Init  the  wanderer  and  his  child  will  go  to  P"ovidenco 
through  rain,  tluuidor,  and  lightning." 

And  now  the  horses,  as  though  tauglit  by  instinct,  }iastene(l 
with  increased  speed.  The  little  l)lack  cloud  cauK!  on  rolling 
over  the  turnpike,  and  doubled  and  trel)led  itself  in  all  direc- 
tions. The  appearance  of  this  cloud  attracted  the  notice  of  all 
tlie  passengers ;  for  after  it  had  spread  itscdf  to  a  great  bulk, 
it  suddeidy  became  more  limited  in  circumference,  grew  more 
compact,  dark,  and  consolidated.  And  now  the  successive  flashes 
of  chain  lightning  caused  the  whole  cloud  to  appear  like  a  sort 
of  irregular  network,  and  displayed  a  thousand  fantastic  iniag(is. 
The  driver  bespoke  my  attention  to  a  remarkable  configuration 
in  the  cloud;  ho  said  every  flash  of  lightning  near  its  centre 
discovered  to  him  distinctly  the  form  of  a  man  sitting  in  an 
open  carriage  drawn  liy  a  black  horse.  lUit  in  truth  I  sa\v  no 
such  thing.  The  man's  fancy  was  doubtless  at  fault.  It  is  a 
very  common  thing  for  the  imagination  to  paint  for  the  sejises, 
both  in  the  visible  and  invisible  world. 

In  the  moan  time  the  distant  thunder  gave  notice  of  a  shower 
at  hand;  and  just  as  we  reached  Policy's  tavern  the  rain  poured 


1 T  - 


04 


NKW-I;N(!LANI)  lkcends. 


|:»; 


;f  ! 


I 


(liiwii  ill  tiiiTcnts.  It  was  sdoii  dvcr,  the  (.'loiid  pussinj,'  in  llio 
(lircctiuii  of  till'  tiini|iik(!  tnwiinl  I'mviilfiicc,  In  a  few  nidinciils 
aftrr,  ii  rL'spcL'tiiblc-ldokiiig  man  in  a  cliiiiHC  Ktopiu'd  at  tlic  (lour. 
'I'lic  man  and  child  in  tliu  chair  having,'  excited  sunns  little  syni- 
jiathy  anionj,'  the  jiasscngcrs,  the  <,'cntU'nian  was  asked  il'  he 
had  ohseived  t' cm.      lliisaid  he  had   met   them;  that  the  man 


KQIESTRIANS. 

seemed  hewildcrod,  and  in(|uirod  the  way  to  Boston ;  that  he 
was  driving  at  gn;at  speed,  as  though  he  expected  to  outstrip 
the  tempest  ;  that  the  moment  he  had  passed  liim,  a  thunder- 
clap broke  directly  over  the  man's  head,  and  seemed  to  envelop 
both  man  and  cliild,  horse  and  carriage.  "  I  stopped,"  said  the 
gentleman,  "  supposing  the  lightning  had  struck  liim  ;  but  the 
horse  only  seemed  to  loom  iip  and  increase  his  speed ;  and  as 


1 


i 


I'KTKU    UL'(;G,   TllK    MiSSINd    MAN. 


i)5 


Well  US  I  ('ouUl  jiul^^c,  li(!  tmvi'llutl  jiiit  as  t'aat  us  Uii  Llumder- 

AVliilt!  this  iiiim  was  spcakiii;,',  a  iiciUar  willi  a  cart  of  tin 
mLTcliaiidisc  caiiu'  ui)  all  (Irippiiix'  ;  and  on  lii'ni;^  ([iK'stuincil, 
1k'  said  111'  had  met  that  nuiii  and  carriage,  within  a  lnitni-ht, 
in  I'lHir  dili'civnt  States ;  that  at  each  time  he  had  in([uin;d  the 
way  it)  pMistun,  and  that  a  thnnder-slmwer,  like  the  present, 
had  ea(  h  tinii;  deluded  his  wa;^nu  and  his  wares,  setting'  his  tin 
puts,  etc.,  iUloat,  so  that  ho  had  determined  to  e^t  marine  insur- 
ance dune  for  the  future.  Uut  that  which  excited  his  surprise 
UKJst  was  the  stran;4e  cDiiduct  ol'  his  horse;  for  that  lon.L,'  hefore 
lie  (!ould  distinj;insh  the 
man  in  the  chair,  his  own 
horse  stood  still  ill  the 
roail,  and  llun;^  back  his 
ears.  '•  In  short,"  saiil  the 
pedlar,  "  1  wish  never  to 
see  that  man  and  horse 
again  ;  they  ijo  not  hmk 
to  me  as  thiiuuh  they  be- 
longed to  this  world." 

This  was  all  I  could 
learn  at  tluit  time  ;  and 
the  nceurronce  soon  after 
would  have  hecome  with 
UK!     "  like    one    of   those 

things  which  had  Jiever  happened,"  had  [  not,  as  I  stood  recently 
on  the  doorstep  of  Bennett's  Hotel  in  Hartford,  heard  a  man 
say,  "There  goes  Peter  liugg  and  his  child  I  He  looks  wet  ami 
weary,  and  farther  from  l)Oslou  than  ever."  I  was  .satislied  it 
was  the  same  man  I  had  seen  more  than  three  years  before;  for 
whoever  has  once  seen  Peter  Pugg  can  never  after  be  deceived 
as  to  his  identity. 

"  Peter  Pugg  !"  said  I;  "and  who  is  Peter  Pugg?" 

"  That,"  said  the  stranger,  "  is  more  tlian  any  one  can  tell 
exactly.     lie  is  a  famous  traveller,  held  in  light  esteem  by  all 


I1A(  KM;V-((I.V(!I. 


96 


NKW-KNULANI)   LKOENIW. 


iiiii-liolilors,  for  lin  never  Htnj)s  to  i-iit,  ili'iiik,  ov  shtop.  I  WDiuhir 
why  till!  lliiviii'iiiiiciit  (Idc.H  lint  <'iii|iliiv  liiin  tu  (uirry  tliu  inail." 

"Ay,"  wiitl  11  Ity.stiindcr ;  "  llmt  is  n  tliuu^lit  bri;,'lit  only  on 
iiiu*  wiilc.  lltiw  lung  wtiuld  it  Vakf.  in  tliat  ciisti  to  semi  a  letter 
to  iJoston'?  —  for  J'eter  has  uhemly,  to  my  kimwledge,  been  uiure 
than  twenty  years  truvillin;,'  to  tliat  iihicc" 

"  lUit,"  said  1,  "does  the  man  never  stop  anywhere  I  Poes  he 
never  converse  with  any  one]  1  saw  the  same  man  more  than 
three  years  sinee  near  I'rovidence,  and  I  heard  a  str.iiii^c  story 
ubout  him.     I'ray,  sir,  j^'ive  me  some  acconnt  of  thi.->  man." 

"Sir,"  said  the  stran^'cr,  "those  wlin  know  the  mo*t  respect- 
ing' that  man  say  tlie  liMst.  I  have  heard  it  asserted  that 
Heaven  .Sometimes  sets  a  maik  on  a  man  either  for  jud;.,'ment 
or  a  trial.  I'nder  which  I'eler  i!n^'^' now  Ial)ors,  I  cannot  say  ; 
therefore  I  am  rather  inclined  to  jiity  than  to  jiid^'c!." 

"  Vou  speak  like  a  humane  man,"  saiil  I  ;  "  and  if  you  have 
known  him  so  lon^',  1  pray  y(»u  will  .i^ive  me  some  account  of 
him.     Ihis  his  appearance  much  altered  in  that  time  <" 

"Why,  yes  ;  he  looks  as  thou^di  he  never  ate,  dr.ink,  or  slept  ; 
and  his  child  looks  older  than  himself ;  and  he  looks  like  time 
broken  oif  from  eternity,  and  anxious  to  fjain  a  resting-place." 

"  And  how  does  his  horse  look?"  said  1. 

"  As  for  his  horse,  lie  looks  fatter  autl  gayer,  and  show.s  more 
animation  and  courage,  than  he  did  twenty  ye;»;N  iigo.  The  last 
time  liugg  spoke  ttj  me  he  iiicjuired  how  far  it  was  to  Jjoston. 
t  told  him  just  one  liundred  miles. 

"  'AVhy,'  .said  he,  '  how  can  you  deceive  me  so]  It  is  ciiud 
to  inislead  a  traveller.  I  have  lost  my  way  ;  pray  direct  me  the 
neanist  way  to  Boston.' 

"  1  repeated,  it  was  one  hundreil  miles. 

"' How  can  you  say  soC  said  he;  '1  was  told  last  evening 
it  was  but  fifty,  and  I  have  travelled  all  night.' 

"  *  But,'  said  I,  '  you  are  now  travelling  from  Boston.  You 
must  turn  back.' 

"  '  Alas  ! '  said  he,  '  it  is  all  turn  back  !  Boston  shifts  with 
the  wind,  and  plays  all  around  the  compass.     One  man  tells 


riiTKK  uicc;,  Tin:  MisaiNo  man. 


97 


iiK!  it  i:i  to  tlio  cast,  anotlicr  to  ilio  wi-mI  ;  mid  tlic  miide-jiOHtj), 
Li»o,  tlivy  all  point  tliu  wruiij,'  way.' 

"  '  Uiit  will  yoii  iidt  stiip  and  rest/'  .said  I;  '  ynii  .scorn  wot 
and  wiMiy.' 

*' '  Vu.s,'  .said  lie  ;  '  it  lias  hem  iuul  wcatliur  Hincu  1  left  linnic' 

"'.Sl(i|i,  then,  ami  rctVcsh  yourself.' 

'"I  inii.'^t  not  stiiii ;  I  niust  ivucli  lioini.' to-ni;^'ht.  il'  [lussihlc  ; 
thoii;;li    1    think    you    must    he   nii-staken    in    the    di.stanco    t^ 

]}ost,Ml.' 

"  lie  then  ;^ave  the  reins  Lo  his  Ikuvsc,  whicli  he  rijstiaincd  with 
diflicnlty,  and  di.sappuared  in  a  iiKinn'nt.  \  lew  days  afterward 
I  met  the  man  a  little  thi.s  side  <<['  Cluremnnl.  wimlin.L;  around 
the  hills  in  I'nity,  at  the  rate,  I  l.elieve,  of  twelve  miles  an 
hour." 

'•  Is  I'eler  \l\v^'^  hi.s  real  name,  or  has  hi'  aeeiilentally  gained 
that  name  (" 

"1  kiinw  nut,  hut  presume  he  will  nut  deny  his  name;  you 
can  asl<  him  —  foi' see,  he  has  lamed  his  Imrse,  and  is  [)assiiig 
this  way.'" 

In  a  moment  a  dark-eolore(l,  hi;4h-s]iirited  Uorse  ajjiirdaehed, 
anil  wnuld  have  passed  without  stoppin;^  ;  hut  I  had  rcsolveii  to 
spi;ak  to  I'eter  iJu-u',  or  whdi^ver  the  man  nii,nhl^  he.  Aecord- 
ingly  I  sle]ipe(l  into  the  stretst,  ami  as  the  horse  approac  lied,  1 
made  a  feint  of  slopping  him,  Thu  man  immodiatcily  reined  in 
his  hor.se.  "  .Sir,"  said  I,  "may  I  bo  .so  hohl  as  to  impiire  if 
you  ari!  not  Mr.  Hugg?  —  for  I  think  I  have  seen  you  Iiefore." 

"  My  naiuo  is  Peter  liugg,"  said  he  :  "  I  have  unfortunately 
lost  my  way.  I  am  wet  and  weary,  ami  will  take  it  kindly  of 
you  to  direct  me  to  J»o.ston." 

"  You  live  in  IJoston,  do  you  ?  —  and  in  what  street  I  " 

"  In  Middle  .Street." 

"  Wli(;n  ilid  you  leave  IJo.stonl" 

"  I  cannot  tell  precisely  ;  it  seems  a  coiisideraljlo  time." 

"But  how  did  you  and  your  child  become  .so  wot  (  It  has 
not  rained  here  to-day." 

"  It  has  just  rained  a  heavy  shower  up  tlie  river.     But  I  shall 

7 


98 


NKW-F.NfiLAND  LK(iKNIiH. 


iifit  rciuli  I'.ostun  to-iii^;lit  if  I  tarry.  Would  you  uilvisi-  tih'  to 
tiiki'  till'  dill  roiul,  nr  tlui  tiirnpiki'  t " 

"  Why,  till'  nlil  iniiil  is  dill'  liiiiKlrL'ii  ami  .si'Vuntecii  miles,  and 
the  tiiriii»iko  is  niiioty-Hoveii." 

"lli)W(;an  you  «iiy  bo?  Vuu  impose  mi  inr  I  [t  i-.  wroiii,' 
to  trilli'  witli  a  traveller.  Ymi  kimw  it  is  Imt  I'orty  mih-s  IVnm 
Ni'wliiuyiiort  to  nostinj." 

"  Hut  tliis  is  not  Nowbiiiyiimt ;  this  is  llarirord." 

"l)o  not  ilcccivi'  nio,  8ir.  Is  not  this  town  Nt'whuryipoit, 
and  Ihf  riviT  tliat  I  liavo  been  t'ollo\vin|4  tlu;  Mi'irimac?" 

"No,  sir;  this  is  Hartford,  and  tho  river  tlu'  ('onm  rliiiit." 

He  wnin^'  his  hands  and  looknl  imu'cdidous. 

"  llavi'  till'  rivers,  too,  ehan;,'ed  their  eoiirses,  as  the  cities 
liave  chan^'cil  places  /  But  see  I  tho  clouds  are  yalherin^'  in  the 
south,  and  wo  shall  havo  a  rainy  iii<,dit.     .ih,  that  fatal  oath  !" 

lie  would  tarry  no  lon^^er.  His  impatient  horse  leaped  oil', 
his  hind  Hanks  rising  liko  winj^s ;  he  •leemed  to  ilev(jur  all 
liefore  him,  and  to  scorn  all  behind. 

I  had  now,  as  I  tlmu.^dit,  discovered  a  dew  to  the  history  of 
I'eter  liU^%  and  I  determined,  the  ne.\t  timo  my  business  called 
me  to  Hoston,  to  make  a  further  iiiijuiry.  Soon  after,  I  was 
enabled  to  collect  the  following  particulars  from  .Mrs.  (^roft,  an 
aged  lady  in  .Middle  Street,  who  has  resided  in  lioston  during 
the  la.st  twenty  years.     Her  narration  is  this  ; 

The  hist  summer,  a  person,  just  at  twilight,  stopped  at  the 
door  of  tho  lato  Mrs.  Ilugg.  Mrs.  Croft,  on  coming  to  tho  (hutr, 
])orceived  a  stranger,  with  a  child  by  his  side,  in  an  old  weather- 
beaten  carriage,  with  a  l)lack  horse.  The  .stranger  asked  for  Mrs. 
I'ugg,  and  was  informed  that  Mrs.  Ifugg  had  died  in  a  good  old 
ago  more  than  twenty  years  ln'fore  that  time. 

The,  stranger  replied,  "  IIow  can  you  deceive  me  sol  Do  ask 
Mrs.  Rugg  to  step  to  tho  door." 

"  Sir,  I  assure  you  Mrs.  Rugg  has  not  lived  liore  these  nine- 
teen years  ;  no  one  live.s  here  but  myself,  and  my  name  is 
Betsey  Croft." 

The  stranger  paused,  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and 


I'KTKk    ULCiC,   TIIK   MlHHlNO    MAN. 


99 


tuud  :  "TIioukIi  tho  paintiiij^  in  ratlicr  FiuIimI,  ilijs  lodks  like  ray 
hoiis(\" 

"  VfH,"  Hiiiil  tho  cliil.l  ;  "  llial  is  lli.i  .sluiic  l.oluio  tliii  (l.uii  lliat 
I  ii^i'il  to  sit  uii  tn  cut  my  hn-ail  and  milk." 

"  Hut,"  Hiiul  till!  stmiif,'t'r,  "it  huuiiks  to  be  on  the  wn.ii;'  iitl(* 
(if  till)  Htrect.  Imlml  I'Vcrytliiiig  Iuto  hiu'Ius  to  lie  misiiluccd. 
TIk!  Htivi'ts  aro  all  fhan^'cd,  tin-  people  iiro  all  diaip^'eil,  tlie  town 
seeiiiH  cliaii^'ed  ;  atid,  wliat  is  stnui.^est  ol'  all,  ( 'atlieriiie  Rii^'i,'  liaH 
deserted  tier  liusliainl  and  iliild.  I'imv,"' <'oiitiiiued  the  stran"t'r, 
"  lias  .loliii  |'"(iy  eorue  lioilie  IVom  .^ea  (  lie  Went  a  Inii'^'  Voya;L,'e  ; 
he  is  my  kinsman.  If  I  coiUd  sue  him,  lie  etndd  ;;ive  me  some 
necuiint  of  Mis.  Ii'u-l;." 

"Sir,"  said  .Mrs.  ('rol't.  "  I  never  heanl  of  John  l''oy.  Where 
did  he  live  f" 

".Inst  ahove  here,  in  Oraiij^^e  Tree  Lane." 

"There  is  no  slleh  phiei'  in  this  iiei^^iilioiiiniid." 

"  What  do  you  tell  me?  .Vre  the  streets  ),'one  ?  OraiiK*'  '''reo 
LaiK!  is  at  the  head  of  Hanover  Street,  near  IVmherton's  Hill." 

"  There  is  iiu  .such  lane  iiow." 

"Madam!  you  eaniiot  lie  .serious.  iJnt  you  douLtle.ss  know 
my  lirotiier,  William  Iiu-;.'.  lie,  lives  in  lloyal  Kxcluuigo  Lane, 
near  Kin,i,'  Street." 

"  I  know  of  no  such  lane,  and  I  am  sure  there  is  no  sueh 
street  as  KiiiL,'  Street  in  this  town." 

"Xo.sueh  .street  as  Kinj<  Street!  Why,  woman,  you  nio.'k 
me  !  Vou  may  as  well  tell  mo  there  is  no  Kinj,'  (leor^e  !  How- 
over,  mailam,  you  see  I  am  wet  and  weary  ;  I  must  find  a  restinj,'- 
placo.      I  will  f,'o  to  Hart's  tavern,  near  tlie  market." 

"  Whieh  market,  sir?  —  (or  you  .seem  perple.\ed  ;  we  have 
several  markets." 

"  You  know  there  is  but  one  market,  —  near  the  Town  dock." 

"Oh,  the  old  market;  Init  no  sueh  person  has  kept  there 
the.sG  twenty  years." 

Here  the  stran^'cr  .seemed  disconcerted,  and  uttered  to  him.self 
quite  audibly:  "Strange  mistake!  H<iw  much  this  looks  like 
the  town  of  Boston  !     It  certainly  has  a  great  resemblance  to 


it! 


II  Hi 


I' 


lUl 


100 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


it ;  hut  I  porceivo  my  luistake  now.  8omo  other  iMrs.  Rugg, 
.souu'  oUkt  Mi(l(ll(!  StrcL't." 

"  Tlion,"  .said  lie,  "  imuhini,  can  you  direct  lue  to  Jjorftonl" 

"  Why,  thi.s  i«  Lostun,  tlio  city  of  Uo-stoii.  I  know  of  no 
other  lioston." 

"  City  of  Boston  it  may  l)e  ;  hut  it  is  not  the  Boston  where 
1  live.  I  recollect  now,  1  came  over  a  bridge  inst(!ad  of  a  IVrry. 
Pray  what  bridge  is  that  I  just  came  over?" 

"  It  is  Charles  Hiver  I'.ridge." 

"  1  i)erceive  my  mistake  ;  there  is  a  ferry  between  Boston  and 
Charlestown ;  there  is  no  bridge.     Ah,  I  perceive  my  mistake. 


MARKET-WO^fAN. 

ff  I  we;'e  in  IVistnn  my  horse  would  curry  me  directly  to  my 
own  door.  But  my  horse  shows  by  his  impatience  that  he  is 
in  a  strange  place.  Absurd,  that  I  should  have  mistaken  this 
place  for  the  old  town  of  Boston  !  It  is  a  much  finer  city  than 
the  town  of  lioston.  It  has  been  built  long  since  Boston.  I 
fancy  it  must  lie  at  a  distance  from  this  city,  as  the  good  woman 
seems  ignorant  of  it." 

At  these  words  his  horse  began  to  chafe  and  strik(>  the  pave- 
ment with  his  fore-feet.  The  stranger  seemed  a  little  bewildered, 
and  said,  "  Xo  home  to-night  ;  "  and  giving  the  reins  to  his  horse, 
passed  up  the  street,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him. 


I'ETEK    KUCKi,    THE    MISSING    MAN. 


101 


Ft  wa-s  evident  that  tlio  generation  to  which  Peter  ilugg 
belonged  had  passed  away. 

This  was  all  the  account  of  Peter  Pugg  I  could  obtain  from 
Mrs.  Croft  ;  but  she  tlirectcil  me  to  an  elderly  man,  ^Ir.  James 
Felt,  who  lived  near  her,  and  wno  had  kei)t  a  record  of  the  prin- 
cipal occurrences  for  the  last  lifty  years.  At  my  re(iuest  she  sent 
for  him  ;  and  after  I  had  related  to  liim  the  object  of  my  inquiry, 
jNIr.  Felt  told  me  he  had  known  Kugg  iu  his  youth  ;  that  his 
disappearance  had  caused  some  surprise  ;  but  as  it  sometimes 
happens  that  men  run  away,  sometimes  to  l)e  rid  of  others,  and 
sometimes  to  be  rid  of  themselves;  and  Kugg  took  his  child 
with  him,  and  his  own  horse  and  chair ;  and  as  it  did  not 
appear  that  any  creditors  made  a  stir,  —  the  occurrence  soon 
mingled  itself  in  the  stream  of  oblivion,  and  Pugg  and  his 
child,  horse  and  chair,  were  soon  forgotten. 

"  Ft  is  true,"  said  Mr.  F(.'lt,  "sundry  stories  grew  out  of  Pugg's 
all'air,  —  whether  true  or  false  I  cannot  tell ;  but  stranger  things 
have  happened  in  my  day,  without  even  a  newspaper  notice." 

"  Sir,"  said  1,  "  Peter  liugg  is  now  living ;  I  have  lately  seen 
Peter  Pugg  and  his  child,  horse,  and  chair.  Therefore  1  jiray 
you  to  relate  to  me  all  you  know  or  ever  heard  of  him." 

"Why,  my  friend,"  said  James  Indt,  "that  Peter  Pugg  is 
now  a  living  man,  1  will  not  deny;  but  that  you  have  seen 
Peter  Pugg  and  his  child  is  impossible,  if  you  mean  a  small 
child  ;  for  Jenny  Rugg,  if  living,  must  be  i;t  least  —  let  me  see 
— ^  Boston  Massacre,  1770  —  Jenny  Pugg  was  about  ten  years 
old.  Why,  sir,  Jenny  Pugg,  if  living,  must  be  more  than  sixty 
years  of  age.  That  Peter  Rugg  is  living,  is  highly  probable,  as 
he  was  only  ten  years  older  than  myself,  and  I  was  only  eighty 
last  ..rch ;  and  I  am  as  likely  to  live  twenty  years  longer  as  any 
man." 

Here  I  perceived  that  Mr.  Felt  was  in  liis  dotage;  and  I 
despaired  of  gaining  any  intelligence  from  him  on  which  I 
could  depend. 

I  took  my  leave  of  Mrs.  Croft,  and  proceeded  to  my  lodgings 
at  the  Marlborough  Hotel. 


102 


XK\V-KN(iLANl)    LEdKNDS. 


'1^ 


If  Peter  Rugg,  thought  I,  has  lieeii  travelling  since  the  Boston 
Massacre,  there  is  no  reas{jn  why  he  should  not  travel  to  the 
end  of  time.  If  the  prest^nt  generation  know  little  of  him,  the 
next  will  know  less  ;  and  I'litcr  anil  his  child  will  have  no  hoM 
on  this  world. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  I  related  my  ailvenlure  in 
.Middle  Street. 

"Ha!"  said  one  of  the  company,  smiling,  "do  you  really 
think  you  have  .seen  Peter  Pugg]  1  have  heanl  my  grandfather 
sj)eak  of  him  as  though  he  scu'iously  helieveil  his  own  story." 

"Sir,"  said  I,  "pray  let  us  compare  your  grandfather's  .story 
of  Mr.  Rugg  with  my  own.  " 

"  Peter  Rugg,  sir,  if  my  grandfather  was  worthy  of  cretlit, 
once  lived  in  Middle  Street,  in  this  city.  He  was  a  man  in 
comfortable  circumstances,  had  a  wife  and  one  daughter,  iind 
was  generally  esteemed  for  his  sober  lif(;  and  manners.  Put, 
unhappily,  his  temper  at  times  was  altogether  ungovernable  j 
and  then  his  language  was  terrible.  In  these  lits  of  passion, 
if  a  door  stood  in  his  way,  he  would  never  do  less  than  kick 
a  panel  through.  He  would  sometimes  throw  his  heels  over 
his  h(.'ad  and  come  down  on  his  feet,  uttering  oaths  in  a  circle; 
and  thus  in  a  rag(i  he  was  the  first  who  performed  a  somerset, 
and  did  what  others  have  since  learned  to  do  for  merriment  and 
money.  Once  Rugg  was  seen  to  bite  a  tenpenny  nail  in  halves. 
In  those  days  everyl)ody,  both  men  and  boys,  wore  wigs  ;  and 
Peter,  at  these  moments  of  violent  passion,  would  bec(jme  so 
profane  that  his  wig  would  rise  up  from  his  head.  Some  said 
it  was  on  account  of  his  terrible  language  ;  others  accounted 
for  it  in  a  more  philosophical  way,  and  said  it  was  caused  by 
the  e.\i)ansion  of  his  scalp,  — as  violent  passion,  we  know,  will 
swell  the  veins  and  expand  the  head.  "While  these  lits  were 
on  him  Rugg  had  no  res])ect  for  heaven  or  earth.  Except  this 
infirmity,  all  agreed  that  Rugg  was  a  good  sort  of  man  ;  for 
when  his  fits  wiire  over,  nobody  Avas  so  ready  to  commend  a 
placid  temper  as  Peter. 

"  It  was  late  in  autumn,  one  morning,  that  Rugg,  in  his  own 


PETKU    UUOd,    THE    MISSING    MAN. 


103 


chiiir,  with  a  fine  large  liay  horse,  took  hi.s  (hiughter  and  pro- 
eeeiicil  to  ( 'oneonl.  Un  liis  ri'tnrn  a  violent  storm  overtook 
him.  At  ilarlc  lie  stoppnl  in  Menotomy,  now  W(!.st  ( 'aml)ri(lgo, 
at  the  door  of  a  Mr.  Cutter,  a  friend  of  his,  who  urged  him 
to  tarry  t!ie  night.  On  Uugg's  declining  to  .stop,  Mr.  Cutter 
urged  iiini  vrlnMucntly.  '  Wliy,  Mr.  ilugg,'  .said  Cutter,  'the 
storm  is  overwlu'lniiiig  you:  the  night  is  exceeding  dark:  your 
little  daughter  will  jjerish  :  you  are  in  an  open  eluiir,  and  the 
tempest  is  increasing.'  'Let  the  storm  Incredsc,''  said  liugg,  with 
a  fearful  oath  ;  '  /  vAll  see  home  tunijht,  in  sjntc  of  the  /<ist  tern- 
2^est,  or  mail  I  never  see  home!^  At  these  words  he  gave  his 
whip  to  his  high-spirited  horse,  and  disii])|ieare(l   in  a  moment. 


liOSTON    TlilCK. 


Ihit  ret(>r  Ii'ugg  did  not  reach  home  that  night,  or  the  next; 
nor,  when  he  became  a  missing  man,  could  he  ever  be  traced 
bej^ond  Mr.  Cutter's  in  Menotomy. 

"  For  a  long  time  after,  on  every  dark  and  stormy  night,  the 
wife  of  Peter  Kugg  would  fancy  she  heard  the  crack  of  a  whii), 
and  the  tleet  tread  of  a  horse,  and  the  rattling  of  a  carriage 
passing  her  door.  The  neighhors,  too,  heard  the  same  noises ; 
and  some  said  they  knew  it  was  IJugg's  horse,  the  tread  on 
tlie  ])avement  was  perfectly  familiar  to  them.  This  occurred  so 
repeatedly,  that  at  length  the  neighlxu's  watched  with  lanterus, 
and  saw  the  real  Peter  Rugg,  with  his  own  horse  and  chair, 
and  child  sitting  beside  him,  ])ass  directly  before  his  own  door, 
his  head  turned  toward  his  house,  and  himself  making  every 
eifort  to  stop  his  horse,  but  in  vain. 


T' 


lill 


104 


NEW-ENGLAN])    LEGENDS. 


"  Tlif  next  (lay  tlio  friends  of  Mrs.  Uw^'^  pxortod  them?'' 
t'j  litid  her  Imsljand  and  cliild.  Tlii'V  iiniiiircil  at  every  imnin- 
house  ami  stalile  in  town  ;  Init  it  ilid  not  appear  that  JJuf,'g 
made  any  stay  in  Huston.  No  one,  after  KiigK'  l"i'l  passed  hi.s 
own  door,  could  give  any  account  of  him  ;  though  it  was  asserted 
by  some  that  the  clatter  of  JJugg's  horse  and  carriages  f)ver  the 
liavem^"*"-  shook  tlus  houses  on  both  sides  of  the  streets.  And 
this  is  1  ,  if  indeed  Rugg's  horse  and  carriage  did  pass  on 

that  nigliL,  /or  at  this  day,  in  many  of  the  streets,  a  loaded 
truck  or  team  in  passing  will  shake  the  houses  like  an  earth- 
([uake.  However,  Rugg's  neighbors  never  afterward  watched  ; 
some  of  them  treated  it  all  as  a  delusion,  and  thought  no  more 
of  it.  Others,  of  a  dilferent  opinion,  shook  their  heads  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Thus  Rugg  and  his  child,  liorse  and  chair,  were  soon  for- 
gotten, and  probably  many  in  the  neighborhood  never  heard  a 
word  on  the  subject. 

"There  was,  indeed,  a  rumor  that  Itugg  afterward  was  seen 
in  Connecticut,  between  Sufheld  and  Hartford,  passing  through 
the  country  with  headlong  speed.  This  gave  occasion  to  Rugg's 
friends  to  make  further  inquiry.  Jkit  the  more  they  inquired, 
the  more  they  were  baflled.  If  they  heijrd  of  Rugg  one  day  in 
Connecticut,  the  next  they  heard  of  him  winding  round  the 
hills  in  New  Hampshire ;  and  soon  after,  a  man  in  a  chair  with 
a  small  child,  exactly  answering  the  description  of  Peter  Rugg, 
would  be  seen  in  K'hode  Island  inquiring  the  way  to  Boston. 

"  But  that  which  chiolly  gave  a  color  of  mystery  to  the  story 
of  Peter  Rugg  was  the  affair  at  Charlestown  15ridge.  The  toll- 
gatherer  asserted  that  sometimes  on  the  darkest  and  most  stormy 
nights,  when  no  object  could  be  discerned,  about  the  time  Rugg 
was  missing,  a  horse  and  wheel  carriage,  with  a  noise  equal  to 
a  troop,  would  at  midnight,  in  utter  contempt  of  the  rates  of 
toll,  pass  over  the  bridge.  This  occurred  so  frequently,  that 
the  toll-gatherer  resolved  to  attempt  a  discovery.  Soon  after, 
at  the  usual  time,  apparently  the  same  horse  and  carriage 
approached  the   bridge   from   Charlestown   Square.     The  toU- 


■^  i 

I 

lit' 


A    LEOKN'I)   OK   THE    OLD    ELM. 


lOf) 


gatherer,  prepared,  U<nk  liis  stand  as  ncai'  the  middle  of  the 
bridge  as  he  dared,  with  a  larp'  three- hogged  stool  in  his  luiiuL 
As  the  appearance  passed,  lie  tlirew  the  stool  at  the  liorse,  but 
heard  notliing,  except  tli((  noise  of  tlw.  stool  skipping  acmss  tlie 
bridge.  'I'lie  toll-gatherer,  on  the  next  day,  asserted  that  the 
stool  went  directly  througli  the  body  of  the  horse  ;  and  he  per- 
sisted in  that  belief  ever  after.  Whether  iJugg,  or  whoever  the 
person  was,  ever  passed  the  bridge  again,  the  tull-gatherer  would 
never  tell;  and  when  (juestioned,  seemed  anxious  to  waive  the 
.subject.  And  thus  Peter  liugg  and  his  child,  horse  and  car- 
riage, remain  a  mystery  to  this  day." 

This,  sir,  is  all  that  I  could  learn  of  J*cter  liugg  in  .Boston. 


i 


A   LE(}END   OF   TTIE   OLD    FAM. 

I!V    ISAAC   McLELLAX,    Ju. 

"ly/TlKK  WILD  was  a  sul)stantial  grocer,  and  flourished  in 
-L-'-L  the  good  old  days  of  lioston.  He  has  for  many  years 
been  i)eacefully  gathered  to  his  fathers,  as  a  small  gray  tablet, 
very  much  defaced  l,y  the  hand  of  time  and  the  idle  schoolboy, 
will  testify.  This  memorial  of  'Siv.  Wild's  mortality  may  be 
seen  by  the  curious  anti(iuary  in  the  Old  Granary  (Jhurchyard. 
bearing  a  pithy  inscription,  which  denotes  the  years  and  days  of 
Mike's  mortal  can.'cr,  and  is  disfigured  by  the  customary  cherub 
and  seraph  of  churchyard  sculpture. 

Mike  was  known  to  be  a  hard  man.  miserly  and  penurious; 
l)Ut  it  was  never  clearly  proved  that  he  was  dishonest.  If  his 
cnifty  and  calculating  spirit  coidd  discriminate  nicely  between 
a  sure  and  a  doubtful  speculation,  it  could  determine  with  equal 
accuracy  how  far  to  overreach  his  neighbor,  and  yet  escape  the 
hazard  of  becoming  obnoxious  to  the  charge  of  fraud.  But  he 
valued  himself  most  upon  his  .shrewdness  and  caution,  profess- 
ing to  hold  in  utter  contempt  the  folly  of  credulity  ;  and  when 


U' 


106 


N  K\V-EN  t ;  LA  X  I)    L  i;(  1  EN  I  iS. 


l«  Is!     ' 

i  i  I 


1 


li    i,:' 


li,    I 


ho  read  or  Imiinl  nf  any  iiui^jsitimi  practised  upnn  Ins  neigh- 
bors, lie  nsed  to  say  :  "  Folks  inusl,  lie  up  lieliiiies  Id  oveireaiii 
Mike  Wild." 

Olio  stormy  ovoninv',  almiit  the  cldse  nf  the  aiitiinin  of  177<>, 
Mike  was  onjoyin^'  liis  eustoinary  hoiisuliold  ((unlnrts,  his  can 
and  l>ipc.  in  the  little  hack  parloi'  dI'  his  dwollin.L;,  Numlior  — , 
^I'orth  End,  Ix'iiig  the  house  next  to  that  occui)iod  Ly  Mr. 
IVtor  Rn,L;i:-,  famous  in  story.  Tho  night  was  dark  without  as 
th(!  "  throat  of  tho  Llack  wolf,"  and  as  turbulent  as  that  animal 
whou  a  long  snow-storm  upon  tho  hills  has  driven  him  mail 
with  famine. 

This  obscure  chamljor  was  the  thoatro  of  his  earthly  felicity. 
It  was  here  tliat  he  counti'd  over  his  accumulating  gains,  with 
every  returning  night  ;  imlulgo(l  in  the  precious  remembrance 
of  past  success,  and  rioted  in  tlu;  golden  visions  of  future  pros- 
perity. Therefore  with  this  njuiu  W(!ro  associatt'd  all  tho  pleas- 
ing recollections  of  his  life. 

It  was  the  only  green  spot  in  his  memory,  —  the  refreshing 
oasis  in  the  barren  desert  of  his  ail'ections.  it  was  there  alone 
that  the  solitary  gleam  of  consolation  touched  and  melted  tho 
ice  of  his  soul.  It  was  natural,  then,  considering  his  sellish 
nature,  that  he  shouhl  keep  it  sacred  and  inviolate.  The  foot 
of  wife  or  child  was  nin^er  pernnttod  to  invade  this  sanctum. 
Sucli  approach  on  their  part  would  have  boon  doomed  high 
treason,  and  ])unisht'(l  as  such  without  "  benefit  of  clergy." 
Such  intrusion  by  a  neighbor  wimld  have  boon  deemed  a  decda- 
ration  of  hostilities,  and  would  have  been  warmly  repelled.  It 
wore,  indeed,  safer  to  have  bearded  the  lion  in  his  den  or  the 
puissant  Douglas  in  his  hall  ;  for  Mike  possessed  all  those  phys- 
ical virtues  which  caTi  ke(>p  the  head  from  barm,  if  at  any  time 
the  absence  of  better  qualities  provoke  assault. 

The  besom  of  tho  thrifty  housewife  never  disturbed  the  ven- 
erable dust  and  cobwebs  that  supplied  its  only  tapestry.  From 
generation  to  generation  the  spider  had  reigned  unmolested  in 
the  corners  and  crevices  of  the  wall ;  and  so  long  had  the  terri- 
tory i)een  held  and  transmitted  from  sire  to  son,  that  if  a  title 


A    I.KCFXD   0|.'   Tlir,   ii|,l)    i;i,M. 


]()7 


1)y  ])ro.sr!i'i])tion  cniild  I'vrr  uviiil  aLjaiiist  llir  pmctical  iii';.';iiiiii'iit 

(if    the   liliMilil,   tlicrc   was   little   Irar  III' ;l   pl'iiccss  dl' cjiM'tlllcllt. 

As  flic  (ilil  laiiip  at  tilt'  j,Mti!  cri.'ilkcil  ilismally,  ami  tlio  rrazy 
sluiltfrs  dl'  ills  chaiijlit'i'  rattled  still  iiiore  noisily  in  the  wind, 
the  iiienairy  of  Mike's  spirits  rose  hi'j;her,  — -a  physieal  pheiioni- 
ciiiiii  not  easily  explained.  Perhaps,  as  the  elemental  war  t^i'ew 
shaiper,  his  own  nature  urew  more  Ih'IiI'jii  in  the  conscionsness 
that  11  secure  shelter  was  intcrposc(i  hetwecn  his  own  head  and 
the  elements. 

The  la.st  drojis 
of  good  liijuor 
had  disappeareil 
from  Mike's  sil- 
ver tankard,  the 
last  wa  V  e  r  i  n  g 
wreath  of  >moke 
had  tlissolved  in 
the  air,  and  the 
dull  endicrs  of 
his  hearth  were 
fast  dying  away 
in  the  white  ash- 
es, Avhen  Mike, 
upon  raising  his 
eyes       suddeidy, 

was  much  startled  to  oh.serve  tliat  he  had  (;ompany  in  his  solitude. 
Ih^  rubhed  his  eyes  and  shook  himself,  to  a.seertain  his  personal 
identity  ;  hut  still  the  large,  strong  hgure  of  a  man  was  .seated  in 
the  (dd  leat  her  chair  directly  opposite  to  him.  Whence  he  came, 
hy  what  means  he  hail  entereil,  what  were  his  purposes,  were 
nij'.steries  too  deep  for  3Iikt-'s  faculties  at  that  tim(!  to  fathom. 
There  he  sat,  however,  niolionless  as  a  statue,  with  his  arms 
foliled,  and  a  jtair  of  large,  lustrous  Idack  eyes  fastened  full 
upon  him.  There  was  a  complete  fa.scination  in  that  glance, 
which  sent  a  thrill  through  his  Avhole  frame,  and  lield  him  as 
with  an  iron  chain  to  his  chair. 


(  UAISK,    ITTti. 


TT 


'  ■  ■ '  '            1 

'      1 

108 


NK\V-KN(;i,AM»   LK(ii;NItS. 


Miki',  like  ;i  ^kkI  ^'cihm'uI,  soon  rullicil  liis  rmiti'd  facultios, 
rciiiiiinatcil  his  lii^'itive  tliou^Hits,  niid  ivsolvcd,  IIkpuhIi  |i(psscss- 
iii^'  11  I'liiiit  liciU't,  to  sliow  ii  liold  t'i'oiit,  —  ii  (dical  dl'tcii  |iru('- 
tiscd  I»y  better  tiicticiaiis.  Ilo  thereiiiioii  plucked  U|i  lieroisiii, 
and  soon  ascertained  that  his  visitor  was  of  very  atl'ahle  and 
hiuii^'tiant  beuriM;,'. 

lie  eoniiiinni(!ated  Ids  l)usiness  brielly,  in  winch  virtue  of 
liievity  we  shall  cipiidescend  to  he  an  imitator.  He  revealed 
that  hi!  was  indeed  of  unearthly  nature,  —  a  disenihodie(l  spii'lt, 
and  that  duriii,^'  his  earthly  sojourn  he  had  secreted  a  most 
precious  treasure,  which  had  been  unlawfully  ac(|uired,  under 
the  ()ld  Kim  'free  in  the  centre  of  the  Connnon.  lb;  could  not 
rest  (piietly  in  the  grave  until  he  had  imparted  the  secret  to 
s(uue  human  bidng  ;  ami  as  Mike  was  a  man  after  his  own  heart, 
he  had  selecti'd  him  as  the  object  of  his  bounty.  Mike  thauketl 
him  sincerely  for  the  compliment  and  kindness,  ;iiid  promis(Ml 
to  go  forth  without  delay  in  search  of  the  treasure,  lie  sallie(l 
forth  with  his  "spiritual  guide,"  his  mind  intoxicated  with  the 
thought  of  till!  heavy  ingots,  and  the  bars  of  gold,  and  the  rich 
foreign  coin  which  he  believed  would  be  shortly  his  own.  The 
night  was  black  and  rainy  :  the  scattei'cd  sleet  swept  furiously 
along  the.  streets,  pursued  by  the  screaming  winil  ;  but  the 
wrath  of  tlut  elements  was  disarmed  by  the  glorious  visicm  of 
riches  and  honor  which  possessed  him. 

They  arrived  at  length,  after  much  wading  and  tribulation, 
at  the  Old  Elm,  now  the  trysting-pku'e  of  young  ])eoplo  on  the 
days  of  Election  festivity.  In  those  days  it  was  sometimes 
used  as  a  gallows,  for  want  of  a  better;  and  it  is  said,  at  this 
very  day,  that  on  dark  and  tempestuous  nights  the  ghosts  of 
those  who  perished  on  its  branches  are  seen  swinging  ami  heard 
creaking  in  the  wind,  still  struggling  in  the  last  throe  and 
torment  of  dissolution,  in  expiation  of  crimes  committed  long 
ago. 

"When  Mike  paused  at  the  roots  of  tlio  old  tree,  he  requested 
his  guide  to  designate  the  jjarticular  spot  that  contained  the 
treasure  ;  but  receiving  no  response  to  this  very  natural  in(piiry. 


A    l,i:(ii;M»   OK   TIIH    I'M)    r.l.M. 


()<» 


lir  looknl  vn\m\  iiiid  suw  th:it  liis  -^i'MWH  liiul  viinislicd  "into 

til.'  ;iir,"  i-niljuhly  liko  Muola'tli's  witdit-s.     II.!  wus  ii..t  t.)  bu 

.lish.'iiitcin'.l  ..!•  (liuint.Ml,  liowuver ;  .s.j  In-,  msolutely  i;(.niiin!nml 

(k'lviii,L'.  with  tin-  /.'al  nl'  an  anl.'Ut  inoiicy- 

ilij,'^.'!'.      II.'  tiiiiit'il  up  many  u  ^.x^'l  m""! 

of  snil  without   uKM'tiii.L,'  111.'  lufci.jus  ore-, 

whi'ii   his  I'.'ars  g.it,  the  lietl.T  of  liirf  ili.s- 

(•ic'tioii,  iiu.l  lii.s  fsiiK'y  liusily  iiciiilcl  tht3 

obs('ure  tops  uirI  limbs  of  tlu'  oM  trc!  with 

all 


THE   MONEY-DIGGER. 


boring  nioiistors,  and  be  fanci(j(l  that  the  evil  spirits  of  de- 
parted malefactors  were  celebrating  their  festival  orgies,  and 
making  merry  with  their  infernal  dances  around  him. 


no 


N'F.W-F.NdLAND    LE(iKN'I»S. 


liii 


h 


His  fear  had  ijicrcasctl  to  a,L;(iiiy.  Tlic  .spadi'  (Inipiu'd  I'nuii 
liis  |i()\v('ili'ss  liaml,  his  hair  luistlcd  with  terror,  and  Ins  ^Tcat 
('y«'s  iK'arly  U'uihhI  t'roiu  lii.«i  head  in  ins  endeavor  to  penetrate 
tlie  <,dooni  that  .siirroiiinh'd  hiiu.  Once  more  liis  mysterious 
guide  stood  hel'ori'  him  ;  hut  on(!  ^dance  of  ids  awl'ully  alteri'd 
face  eomph'ted  the  climax  of  his  fright.  'I'liosc  lar^^i"  hlaek, 
histrous  eyes  iiuw  kiiuUeil  like  two  l)alls  t)f  llamo  ;  and  as  their 
liendish  histre  ;,dare(l  iipon  iiini,  Ik!  shrank  hack  as  troiii  ii 
scondnn^'  llame.  A  nose,  fuormous  and  rul)ii'uiid  as  the  car- 
hunele  of  tiie  Kast,  protrudcul  many  a  rood  from  the  face  of 
liis  evil  spirit,  and  immense  whiskers,  roii;4h  and  sha^^'v  as  tho 
lion's  innue,  llowed  around  his  visa^'e.  'i'iui  j^old-nionstcr  eon- 
tinui'd  to  frown  upon  lum  fearfully,  till  at  length  the  hewilderrd 
eyes  of  Mike  could  look  no  longer,  and  he  fell  to  the  earlli 
utterly  senseless. 

When  Mike  awoki',  the  morning,'  sun  was  looking,'  cheerfully 
into  his  own  chandier  window,  and  the;  hirds  that  make  nieriy 
in  every  hrij^lit  summer  morning  were  singing  g.'iyly  on  the* 
house-eaves  ahove  his  head.  lie  ruhhed  his  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment, and  was  in  douht  whether  he  had  not  lost  his  .senses,  or 
whether  the  visit(jr,  the  money,  the  walk  of  nudidght,  and  tho 
horrihle  gohlin,  were  not  all  the  mere  creations  of  a  dream. 

While  lost  in  these  douhts  and  dilHculties,  a  neighhor  oppor- 
tunely stepped  in,  to  whom  he  related  the  whole  scene,  adtling 
at  the  .same  time  suitahle  (Muhellishments  to  the  appearance  of 
the  lienddike  apparition  which  had  haunted  him. 

His  friend  heard  him  for  some  time  expatiate  on  the  miracu- 
lous adventure,  hut  at  length  could  preserve  his  gravity  no 
longer,  and  hurst  forth  in  a  loud  ha !  ha  !  ha  !  When  he  had 
recovered  sufficient  breath  to  articidate,  he  confessed  to  the 
electritied  Mike  that  his  visitor  was  no  other  than  himself,  and 
that  he  had  jiractised  the  hoax  in  order  to  decide  a  wager  with 
mine  host  of  the  l>oar's  Head,  who  had  bet  a  dozen  of  his 
choicest  bin  that  no  one  could  get  the  better  of  shrewd  Mike 
Wild  of  the  North  End. 


UOXUL'UY    rUDDlNli-STONE. 


II 


UUXDIUV    PIIDDIXG-STONK. 


IN    tl.nsc    |.U'asiiiit  .suliurltiiii   dislricU  nf    Uostini   thiit  wcro 
Inlllicrlv  tll>'   towns  111'   li'nxlilliy 

iiinl  DdiclK'stcr,  till'  rni'k  cviTywIiciv 

Keen       ill      tllc      Idiulsidf     Wulls       lllnl 

(HittT(>|i|iiii.i;  Iciljrcs  is  till'  very  curi- 
(iiis  coip^luiiicnitt'  liimiliarly  kimwu 
as     iiU(l(liiiLi;stnii('  ;    so    called,     no 

duulit,    nil    aci'nlllit     (if     tlir     pclililcs 

that  an;  inihi'ddod  so  solidly  within 
the  cooled  mass  as  now  to  form  a 
jiart  of  it.  Kejeetiii;^  all  scieiitilic 
hypotheses  in  favor  of  a  le^'oiid, 
the  genial  l)r.  Holmes  arrouilts  for 
the  i^'eologieal  phenomenon  in  his 
own  felicitous  way  in  the  "Dorches- 
ter (iiant,"  thus  enahlin;^  us  to  conclude  our  historical  pieces 
with  the  customary  geological  tiescription. 


OLD    MII,i;-STONi;. 


TIIK    DORCHESTKU   (IIANT. 

uLivKit  wi;ni)i:i,i,  holmes. 

TnEUK  was  a  (Jiant  in  time  of  old, 

A  nii;,'lity  one  was  lie  ; 
He  liiid  a  wile,  hut  she  was  a  scold, 
So  he  kejit  her  shut  in  his  mauiuioth  fold  ; 

An<l  lie  hail  children  three. 


Then  the  (iiant  took  his  children  three, 

And  fastened  them  in  the  ]ien  ; 
The  children  roared  ;  ([uotli  the  Giant,  "Be  still!" 
And  Dorchester  Heights  and  Milton  Hill 

Rolled  hack  the  sound  again. 


If 


112  NKW-KN(lLANl)  LK(iKNI)S. 

Thill  In;  limiixht  llifiii  n  inuluiii;,'  stuU'iMl  with  plmu«, 

As  l)ig  11.1  tilt!  Statu- lloiisc  (Idiiir  ; 
QiKitli  111',  "Tlna'u'rt  Hitmithiii^'  lor  you  to  t-ut ; 
So  .-.Idii  your  mouths  with  your  'Ifctioii  treat, 

Ami  NMiit  till  your  thul  coiiics  lioiiu'." 


f  I 


)       I 


Wiiiit  iiri!  tho>f  lovud  onus  iloii\f,'  now, 

The  wilt;  ami  cliililrun  wadV 
Oh,  they  are  in  ii  terriiilc  mul, 
Siircuinini,'  ami  throwing,'  tlicir  pmldin^' about, 

Acting  as  tluy  were  mad. 

They  Ihuij,'  it  over  to  Hoxbury  hills, 

Tiicv  Hum;;  it  over  tiie  jiiain, 
Ami  all  over  Milton  and  Dorchester  too, 
Great  luni[tH  of  puddiuj;  tlie  ;  iaiits  threw. 

They  tunihled  as  tluik  as  rain. 

And  if,  some  pleasant  afternoon, 

Von  '11  ask  me  out  to  ride, 
Tile  wliole  of  the  story  1  will  lell, 
And  you  may  see  where  tlic  laiddings  fell, 

Ami  pay  for  the  jiuneh  beside. 


I 


part  :f^cconD. 


CAMIUaDGK     LEGENDS. 


m 


THE   WASHINGTON   ELM. 


THIS  patriarch  among  trees  is  one  of  those  perishable  his- 
toric objects  we  can  still  point  to  with  a  feeling  of  satis- 
faction that  it  C(jntinues  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  vigorous  old  age. 
Long  live  the  Washington  Elm  !  It  has  survived  the  renowned 
Charter  Oak,  it  outlives  its  vcntTated  neighbor,  the  Boston  Elm  ; 
and.  thou'di  much  shattered  ''  alow  and  alcjft,"  it  bids  fair  to 
round  the  century  with  head  proudly  erect,  as  the  living  link 
joining  the  settlement  o^  the  country  with  tao  era  of  its  greatest 
prosperity. 

The  historic  elm-tree  stands  in  the  public  highway,  by  the 
side  of  the  ComuKni,  in  the  city  of  Cambridge.  The  Common 
was  the  trainingtiidd  of  the  first  republican  army,  formed  almost 
as  if  by  magic,  in  the  years  '75  and  '76,  of  glorious  memory. 
Beyond  the  elm  of  renown,  on  the  other  side,  are  the  (juaint 
old  College  buildings,  which  then  served  as  barracks  for  tliis 
army  ;  while  scattered  round  about  the  neighborhood  are  many 
of  the  residences  that  the  chances  of  war  turned  into  (juarters 
for  the  officers  when  tliey  were  vacated  in  a  hurry  by  their 
Tory  owners.  So  that  many  vestiges  of  those  stirring  times 
remain  to  attract  the  visitor  to  one  of  the  most  historic  places 
of  the  Commonwealth. 

Many  pilgrims  wend  their  way  to  the  spot  where  the  massive 
old  tree-trunk  —  the  Washington  Elm  —  shakes  out  its  annual 


116 


NEW-MXCLANI)    LKtiKNDS. 


I 


|: 


I 


fdliarff.,  that  is  like  tlu;  ivy  clinging  and  clustering  about  a  ruin. 
As  a  tree,  it  would  lu;  sure  to  coiiiiujind  atteidion  on  accuunt  of 
its  ajtparcnt  great  age  ;  hut  it  is  something  more  than  a  tree. 
Silent  witness  to  all  the  scenes  that  have  Iteeii  enacted  here 
since  the  white  men  lirst  foreecl  their  way  through  the  thickets 
covering  the  surrounding  plain,  it  is  as  much  an  ol)ject  of  ven- 
eration to  the  citizens  as  if  it  were  really  ahle  to  impart  what 


0M^M'L.'' 


1 
;  ij    ji 

I    1 


THE   WASUIJTGTGN   ELM. 

it  had  seen.  May  its  shadow  never  be  less  !  It  saw  the  mus- 
tering of  the  raw  Provincial  levies  for  the  seven  years'  march 
to  Yorktown  ;  it  has  been  blackened  by  cannon-smoke,  has  seen 
the  glittering  circle  of  camivfires  lighting  the  long  line  of  an 
investing  army  steadily  tightening  its  coils  about  the  beleaguered 
capital.  Ihit  one  thing,  above  others,  invests  it  with  a  grandeur 
inseparable  from  him  who  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all. 


I!  ; 

It  1 

■    'I 


THE   WASIIINC.TON    ELM. 


117 


The  inscrijition  placed  at  tlio  base  of  tlic  tree  tells  tlu!  whole 
story  ;  to  tliis  it  is  uiiiiocossarv  to  aihl  a  siii.udc  word  : 


I'NDKU    I'llIS   TKKK 

\VAsiiiN(;roN 

KII!ST   TOOK   (O.MM.VNl) 

or  TlIK 

AMKItK  AN    AHMY, 

•IlLV    •!'■,    I77i. 


THE  WASHINGTON   ELM. 

MRS.    I,.    N.    SIGOURN'KY. 

Words  !  worth,  oil  Tree  !     Tli(>i\  hast  an  asjtect  fair, 
A  vigdmus  licail,  a  !n'avcii-asi)iriii,L;  tavst  ; 

And  sleepless  inriiiinirs  oi'  tliu  days  that  were, 
Lodge  ill  tliy  hranclies,  like  the  soiij^'-liird's  nest. 

Words  !  i^'ive  us  words !     Methoughl  a  ^^atliering  hkat 
Mid  its  <,'reeii  leaves  hei^aii  to  niurniur  h)W, 

Shaiiiiij,'  its  uttfiancc  to  thi'  iiiiidity  Past, 
That  hackward  caiiu',  on  i.iiiioiis  lloatiiig  slow  : 


"The  ancient  masters  ot  tlif  soil  1  knew, 

Whose  eane-rooi'ed  wi.^waiiis  flecked  the  forest-brown  ; 
Their  hunter- I'ool steps  swept  the  early  dew, 

And  their  keen  arrow  struck  the  eagle  down. 


•y4 


"  I  heard  the  bleak  Deccnibcr  tciniH'st  moan 

When  the  tossed  '  Mayllowcr'  moored  in  Plymouth  Bay  ; 
And  watched  yon  classic  walls  as,  stone  by  stone, 

Tlie  lathers  reared  them  slowly  toward  the  day. 

"  But  lo  :  a  mighty  t'hiel'taiii  'iieath  my  shade 

Drew  his  bright  sword  and  reared  his  dauntless  head  ; 

And  Liberty  sjjrang  forth  from  rock  and  glade. 
And  donned  her  helmet  for  the  lioui'  of  dread  : 


f 

I 

■I 


m]  I 


118  NKW-KNCLAND   LEGKXDS. 

"While  in  {\n;  Iutu's  Ikmm  tiicii;  d\w\t  a  prayer 
Tiiat  Heaven's  iirnteetiiiL;  arm  might  never  cease 

Tv  make  his  young,  eiuhmgered  land  its  caie, 

Till  through  the  war-cloud  looked  the  angel  Peaee. 

"  lie  wise,  my  children,"  said  that  ancient  Tree, 
In  earnest  tone,  as  though  a  Mentor  sjuike, 

"And  ]irize  the  hlood-bought  hirthright  of  the  (Vee, 
And  iirndy  gifard  it  J'or  your  countiy's  sake." 

Thanks,  thanks.  Old  Elm  !  and  for  this  counsel  sage. 
May  Heaven  tliy  hrow  with  added  heanty  grace. 

Grant  richer  emeralds  to  thv  crown  ofa^'-e. 
And  changeless  honors  I'rom  a  future  race. 


TIIK    WASHINGTON    Kl.M. 

.IAME.S    HUSHELL    LOWELL. 

BENE.vTFi  our  consecrated  elm 

A  century  ago  he  sf(]()d. 

Famed  vaguely  for  that  old  fight  in  the  wood 

Whose  red  surge  sought,  but  could  not  overwhelm 

The  life  foredoomed  to  wield  our  rough-hewn  helm 

From  colleges,  where  now  the  gown 

To  arms  had  yielded,  from  the  town. 

Our  rude  self-summoned  levies  Hocked  to  see 

The  new-come  chiefs,  ;nul  wonder  which  was  he. 

No  need  to  question  long  ;  close-lipped  and  tall, 

Long  trained  in  nmrder-hrooiling  forests  lone 

To  bridle  others'  clamors  and  his  own, 

Firmly  erect,  he  towered  above  them  all, 

The  incarnate  discipline  that  was  to  free 

With  iron  curb  that  armed  democracy. 

Musing  beneath  the  legendary  tree. 

The  years  Ijetween  furl  off  ;  I  seem  to  see 

The  sun-fiecks,  shaken  the  stiried  foliage  through, 

Dapple  with  gold  his  sober  buff  and  bliie, 


I 


i 


III 


Till-:    LAST   Ol-    TIIH    lIKillWAV.MEN. 


11 'J 


Ami  wi-avi'  iiniplictic  iuiivolcs  luimd  the  liisul 

Thai  shines  our  huacim  iiuw,  nor  (liirkeiis  wilh  thu  dwul. 

O  niun  of  sik-nt  mood, 

A  sliaiiyer  anion.\'  straii^cis  tlien, 

How  ail  thini  simt.-  ifiiowucd  the  (Jreat,  thu  Good, 

Kanuliai  as  tin-  day  in  all  the  honius  ol' men  ! 

Tile  wini^ed  years,  liial  winnow  praise  and  Idume, 

IjIow  many  names  out  ;  they  liut  Ian  to  llame 

The  seli'-ieiiewim;  solendois  ol  thv  lame. 


TTIK   LAST   OF  THE   HIGHAYAYMEN. 


"A  riClIAKL  .MAIJTIN,  <ii;,i><  Captain  Liolitfuot,  after  a 
-'-'-L  checkered  career  in  Iichmd,  his  native  eountry,  aiul 
ill  Scotluiul,  as  a  lii-hway  rtdii)er,  hecaine  in  1819  a  i'uL;ilive  to 
America.  1I(!  liist  landed  at  Salem,  where  lie  obtained  I'liiiihiy- 
iiieiit  as  u  farmdalxirer.  Ihil  a  life  of  honest  toil  not  Ijciii'^  so 
cuiigenial  to  iiim  as  tluit  of  a  liandit,  he  again  took  to  his  old 
oeeiipation  on  the  roatl,  this  time  making  Canada  the  scene  of 
his  cx2)loits. 

After  committing  many  robberies  there  and  in  Vermont  and 
Xew  Hampshire,  and  always  eluding  capture,  Martin  at  length 
arrived  in  I'xiston.  He  at  once  began  his  bold  operations  upon 
the  highway  ;  but  here  his  usual  good  luck  deserted  him.  His 
lirst  and  last  victim  was  ^hxyn-  John  Bray,  of  Boston.  Martin 
had  somehow  found  out  that  His  Excellency  Governor  Brooks 
intended  giving  a  dinner-itarty  at  his  mansion  in  :Nredford  on  a 
certain  afternoon,  and  he  had  determined  to  waylay  some  of 
the  com])any  on  their  return,  shrewdly  guessing  that  they  might 
be  '.veil  worth  the  picking.  In  fact,  as  Major  Bray  was  driving 
leisurely  homeward  in  his  chaise  over  the  Medford  turnpike,  he 
was  suddenly  stopped  by  a  masked  horseman,  who  presented  a 
pistol  and  sternly  commanded  him  to  deliver  up  his  valuables. 


120 


NEW-KNGLAM)    LKi  iKNDS. 


Tho  placo  was  a  lonely  (Jiie,  luul  well  cliuson  for  tht;  ro])bi!r's  pur- 
pose. The  astouiuled  Major  haiuled  over  liLs  watch  aud  his 
purse.  Having  hccured  Ids  booty,  thi;  lughwayinaii  wheeled  his 
horse,  gave  liini  the  spur,  and  galloped  oil;  while  his  frightened 
ai.'d  (trestfallen  victim,  lashing  liis  horso  to  a  run,  raised  a  hue- 
and-ciy  at  tho  nearest  house. 

^Martin  fled,  lie  was  hotly  pursued,  and  was  taken,  after  a 
chase  of  a  hundred  miles,  asleep  in  Led  at  Springfield.  The 
officers  brought  him  back,  and  lodged  him  in  Kast  ('anil)ridge 
jail  t(j  await  his  trial.  He  was  tried  at  the  nc.'xt  iissizes  for 
highway  robbery,  was  convicted,  and  si'nteneiid  to  be  •hanged. 
Tiiis  being  the  lirst  trial  occurring  undrr  the  statute  punish- 
ing such  an  olfeuce,  it  naturally  created  a  great  deal  of  stir,  and 
wlieii  the  prisoner  was  brought  to  the  bar,  the  court-room  was 
thronged  with  curious  spectators.  Throughout  the  iiroceedings 
tlie  [irisoner  was  perfectly  cool.  As  tin;  pupil  of  the  celebrated 
Thunderbolt,  he  had  a  reputation  to  maintain  ;  and  wlien  tho 
judge,  putting  on  the  ])lack  cap,  jjniuounced  the  awful  sentence 
of  death,  ho  dryly  observed  :  "  Well,  that 's  the  worst  you  can  do 
for  me." 

'J"he  doomed  man,  however,  made  om;  desperate  ellort  to 
escape  from  prison.  He  had  found  some  way  to  ])rocure  a  iile, 
with  which  he  filed  off  his  irons  so  tluit  he  could  removt;  them 
whenever  he  liked  ;  ami  when  the  turnkey  one  morning  came 
into  tho  cell,  he  being  off  his  guanl,  tiie  in-isoner,  using  his  irons 
as  a  weapon,  felled  him  to  tlie  ground  with  a  savage  blow  on 
the  head,  aud  leaving  him  stunned  and  l)leeding  uinm  the  floor 
of  the  cell,  rushed  out  of  the  open  door  into  the  prison-yard. 
The  outer  walls  were  too  high  to  Ije  scaled,  and  free  passage 
into  the  street  was  barred  by  ii  massive  oaken  gate.  But  this  did 
not  stop  the  resolute  highwayman,  who  was  a  man  of  herculi'an 
strength.  Dashing  himself  r('i)eatedly,  witli  all  his  force,  against 
it,  he  at  last  succeeded  in  breaking  tlie  gat(;  open,  and  passing 
quickly  through,  he  emerged  into  the  street  beyond  ;  but  being 
exhausted  by  his  frantic  efforts  to  escape,  afti'r  a  .short  flight 
his  pursuers  overtook  aud  secured  him.     lie  was  loaded  with 


TilK    KLIUT    OAK. 


121 


iruiis  iuul  clmimMl  to  his  cell.  After  this  dcspcmto  attempt  to 
gain  liis  lilK'Vty,  li<^  was  guarded  with  greater  vigilance  until  the 
day  apiM.iuted  lor  his  execution,  when  the  "Last  of  the  High- 
paid  the  penalty  (jf  his  crimes  upon  the  scaflbld. 


wavmeu 


THE   ELIOT   OAK. 


IN  that  part  of  Boston  formerly  (;onstituting  the  town  t)f 
ih-ighton,  and  still  farther  back  forming  a  precinct  of  Cam- 
l,ridge,  there  is  a  pleasant  locality  called  Oak  S-iuarc.  It  was 
so  named  on  account  of  the  old  oak-tree  which  stood  tluue, 
and  which  is  prol.al)ly  better  known  as  the  Eliot  Oak. 

This  gigantic  relic  of  the  immeval  forest  was  in  its  day  the 
larg.'st  imd  the  ..Id.'st  tree  of  its  species  growing  within  the   lour 
boiuularies  of  th(3  ohl  T.ay  State,  and  it  was  oflicially  declared 
to  l)e  so  l)y  a    scientilic  conuuission  which  was  charged  witli 
making  a  botanical  survey  of  the  State.      Tlie  dcH'laration    is 
made  tliat  "It  had  probably  passed  its  prime  centuries  before 
th(!  lii'st  English  voice  was  heard  on  tlu;  shores  of  jNlassachnsetts 
Bay."     Its  circumference  at  the  ground  was  given   at  twenty- 
live   feet   and   nine  inches,  or   two  fe(;t  more  than  that  of  the 
Great  Elm  of  Boston.     Through  decay  tlie  trunk  became  li-  Mow 
at  the  base,  furnishing  a  cavity  largo  enough  to  serve  as  a  hid- 
ing-place for  the  schoolboys  who  jdayed  under  the  shade  of  its 
wide-spreading  branches.     The  en.)rnious  weight  of  these,  with 
their  foliage,  was  at  last  sui)]iorted  by  a  mere  sh(>ll  of  trunk, 
and  as  every  gale  threatened  to  lay  it  low,  to  the  regret  of  thou- 
sands, the  brave  old  oak  was  through  a  hard  neeessity  comptaied 
to  bite  the  dust.     By  an  order  of  the  town  it  was  cut  down  in 
May,  18.")5. 

A  little  west  of  this  tree  was  the  former  site  of  tin;  wigwam 
of  Waban,  Chief  of  the  Nonantums,  and  he  must  often  have 
rested  under  its  generous  shade.     The  old  Indian  trail  .extended 


I   I 


.1      ! 


111! 

m 


li 


|i 


il!? 


\\.i 


THE    KI.IOT   OAK,    HKIRUTON. 


KLIOT  S   OAK. 


123 


from  tliis  troo  northeast  to  tlio  Cliarles  JUvcr,  connecting  the 
sottUduciit  huro  wilh  iho  (Jollogus  at  (Jlil  Ciimhridgc. 

TraiUtiuu  says  tluit  tho  Ai^jstlo  JCliot  oi'  ylurious  meincry 
pmichud  to  th(}  Indians  here  nudar  tliis  oak.  Wi;  aw,  aiuji/.cd 
to  thiuk  of  it  as  then  l)eing —  near  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago 
—  ill  \\.>  vigorous  maturity.  This  is  the  incident  which  the 
l)oet  Loiiglollnw  eml)ahus  in  his  sonnet,  the  scene  being,  how- 
ever, tniiisfcrred  to  N'atick,  ^hlssa(•,husotts,  where  these  Indians, 
hy  tlie  advice  uf  Eliot,  i'oiinded  ono  of  their  Prayiug  Towns, 
and  adopted  the  customs  of  civilized  life. 


ELIOT'S     OAK. 


II.    W.    LONGFELLOW. 


Thou  ancient  oak  !  whose  myriad  leaves  are  loud 
With  sounds  of  unintelligildf  speech, 
Sounds  as  of  sur^'es  on  a  shingly  heacli, 
Or  multitudinous  niunnnrs  of  a  crowd; 

With  snmc  mysterious  gift  of  tongues  endowed, 
Thou  speakest   a  different  dialect  to  each  ; 
To  me  a  language  that  no  man  can  teach, 
Of  a  lost  riice,  long  vanished  like  a  cloud. 

For  underneatli  thy  sliadc,  in  days  remote, 
.Seated  like  Ahraham  at  eventide 
Beneath  the  oaks  of  Mamre,  the  unknown 

Apostle  of  the  Indians,  Eh"ot,  wrote 

His   Bihle  in  a  lan^'uage  that  hath  died 
And  is  forgotten,  save  by  thee  alone. 


,  i       i        I 


r       I   I 


I  \ 


i  -L 


part  Ziyitti, 


T.YNN    AND    NAIIANT    LEPxENDS. 


'I  I 


lii 


I;  I 


il 


I'l: 


it! 


LYNN   AND  NAIIANT  LE(iKNDS. 


^piTK  vivid  ami  lifn-liko  (lesciii)tioii  of  the  coast  scenery  of 
-L  anoient  .Sanf,'tis,  borrowed  iVom  "  Tli.-  liridal  of  iViina- 
cook,"  is  a  most  tittiii-,'  introduction  to  our  lci,'(!nds;  for  nowhere 
could  a  wilder  or  more  romantic  re<,'ion,  or  on(!  omhodyini,'  more 
strikinj,'  natural  traits,  prepari;  tlie  miml  for  receivinj,'  those  weird 
tales  which  so  truly  ju'esent  U)  it  the  supcirstitious  side  of  old 
Now  Kn,<,dajul  life. 

A  wild  and  l)r()ken  laudscaji";  spiked  witli  lirs, 
l{t)U<,'liening  the  lilcak  horizon's  nortlicrn  ed^'c, 

Steep,  cavernous  hillsides,  where  black  hendock  spurs 
And  sharp,  -^rny  s])liiiters  of  the  wind-swept  l(.d;,'e 

Pierced  tlie  thin-glazed  ice,  or  bristling  rose, 

Where  the  ccdd  rim  of  the  sky  sunk  down  upon  the  snows. 

And  eastward  cold,  wide  marshes  stretched  awav. 

Dull  dreary  Hats  without  a  biish  or  tree, 
O'er-crossed  by  icy  creeks,  where  twice  a  day 

Gurgled  the  waters  of  the  moon-struck  sea  ; 
And  faint  with  distance  came  the  stifled  roar, 
The  melancholy  lapse  of  waves  on  that  low  shore. 


■n 


128 


N I'. \v - 1; N ( ; L A N I »  1. 1',( ; !•: n i »s. 


THE   BUI  DAL   OF   PENXACOOK. 


it  ' 
!t;: 


i\   the   "  I'mdal  of  l'fiin;ic(Kik,"  Mr.  Wliitticr.  who  is  liiiusflf 
ill  oiu'o  tho  product  iin.l   tlio  poet   of  this   r.imantic  coast, 
tells   us  that   lio  chanced   upon   the   mutivo   of  the  i-oeui   while 

poriu;^  over 

All  old  cluoiurle  of  border  wars 
And  Indian  histotv. 

This  was  uiuUmhteilly  Thomas  Morton's  "  \ow  Eii-lish  ("a- 
,i:,a„;'_a  l„„,k  whi(di  the  I'uritaiis  indi^L^nantly  denominated 
"seanthdous,"  and  for  whiidi  they  imprisoned  the  author  a 
whole  year,  then  lisniissiug  him  with  a  line.  I'.ut  aside  from  its 
merciless  ridicude  of  them  and  their  ways,  its  value  as  "  Indian 
history"  is  duly  certihe(l  by  most  competent  Judges,  ont^  (d" 
whom  says  that  Morton's  description  of  the  Indians  "is  su- 
perior to  that  td'  most  authors  before  his  time;  ;  and  thouoh  he 
sometimes  indulges  his  imagination,  yet  this  part  of  his  wcjrk  is 
of  exceeding  great  value  to  impiirers  about  the  primitive  inhabi- 
tants of  New  England." 

The  poet  goes  on  to  relate,  that  among  the  ill-assorted  collec- 
tion of  books  forming  his  landlord's  library  lu;  found  this  old 
chronicle,  wherein  he  read,  — 

A  story  of  the  niarriafjc  of  the  (Mupf 
Of  Sauffus  to  the  dusky  Wcctaie.oo, 
Daughter  of  I'assacunaway,  who  dwelt 
In  the  old  time  ujion  the  Merrimack. 

This  is  the  story  as  it  is  n^lated  by  Morton.  Winnepurkit, 
the  son  of  Nanapasliemet,  or  the  New  Moon,  was  the  Sagamore  of 
Saugus,  Xaumkeag,  and  Massabequasdi,  —  now  known  as  Saugus, 
Lynn,  Salem,  and  Marhlehead.     When  he  came  to  man's  estate 


TlIK    IIUIHAL    Ol'    I'KNNACODK. 


129 


tlii.s  yoiin^'  Siichoiii,  wlio  was  botli  viiliaiit  uiul  of  nol)lti  blood, 
iiiiulr  choice  l\)r  his  wit'o  of  tiic  tliuij^litci'  of  Piissucoiiuway,  i]n\ 
'^nmi  chifftaiii  of  the  tribes  inhal)itin,L,'  the  valley  of  the  Merri- 
mack. Not  only  was  l^issaconaway  a  mii^'lity  chief  in  war  or 
peace,  but  ho  was  also  the  grt;atest  powow,  or  wizard,  of  whom 


AN    INDIAN    riUXCKSS. 


WO  have  any  account,  liuleod  the  jjowers  attributed  to  hiiu  by 
the  Englisli  colonists  would  almost  surr'^'^s  ])elief,  were  they  not 
fully  vouched  for  by  the  learned  and  rjvei.  ^  chroniclers  of  that 
day,  who  gravely  assert  that  so  skilled  was  iii.  in  the  arts  of 
necromancy,  tliat  he  could  cause  a  green  leaf  to  grow  in   winter, 

y 


a" 


130 


KKW-ENliLAiN'I)    LKOENDS. 


j  ] 


trees  to  (liiuce,  v  atcr  to  burn,  aiul  tin:  liko  marvels  to  appear  in 
the  (H)iu'.se  of  his  mystical  invocations. 

Witli  the  consent  and  good  liking  of  this  redoubtable  saga- 
more, Winnepurkit  wooed  and  married  the  daughter  of  Passa- 
conaway.  Uountiful  was  the  entertainment  tluit  he  and  his 
attendants  received  at  her  father's  hands,  iiccording  to  the  cus- 
tom of  his  people  when  celebrating  an  event  of  this  kiiul,  and 
such  as  suited  the  exalted  rank  of  tlie  bride  and  groom. 
Feasting  and  revelry  succeeded,  or  rather  they  made  a  part  of 
the  luiirriago  solemnities,  as  with  all  ancient  peoples.  Tin;  cere- 
monies being  over,  Passaconaway  caused  a  select  luunber  of  his 
braves  to  escort  his  daughter  into  the  territories  belonging  to  her 
lord  and  husband,  Avhere  being  safely  come,  they  were,  in  a  like 
manner,  most  hospitably  entertained  by  Winnepurkit  and  his 
men,  and  wlien  tliey  wen;  ready  to  depart,  W(U'e  generously 
rewardinl    with  gifts  for  their  loving  care  and  service. 

'Not  long  afterward  the  newly  wedded  princess  was  seized  with 
a  passionate  longing  to  revisit  once  again  her  native  country,  and 
to  behold  once  more  the  face  of  the  mighty  chief,  her  father. 
II(!r  lord  listened  to  her  prayer,  which  seemed  reasonable  enough, 
and  he  therefore,  in  all  love  and  kindness  for  her  welfare,  chose 
a  picked  body  from  among  his  most  trusted  warriors  to  conduct 
his  lady  to  her  father,  to  Avhoin  they  with  great  respect  presently 
brought  her  safe  and  sound ;  and  then,  after  being  graciously 
received  and  as  graciously  dismissed,  tliey  returned  to  give  an 
account  of  their  errand,  leaving  their  princess  to  continue  among 
her  IViends  at  her  own  good  will  and  pleasure.  After  some  stay 
in  her  old  home  by  the  beautiful  mountain  river,  the  lady  signi- 
ii('(l  i,cr  desire  to  go  back  to  her  husband  again,  upon  which  Pas- 
saconaway sent  an  embassy  to  Winnepurkit  with  order  to  notify 
him  of  this  w'sh  on  her  part,  ami  to  request  that  the  Sachem 
of  Saugus,  his  son-in-law,  miglit  at  once  despatch  a  suitable 
guard  to  escort  his  wife  back  through  the  wilderness  to  her  home, 
T3ut  AVinnepurkit,  strictly  standing  for  his  honor  and  reputation 
as  a  chief,  bade  the  messengers  to  carry  his  father-in-law  this 
answer  :    "  That  when  his  wife  departed  from  him,  he  caused 


t^ 


il 


1 


1 


THE    BRIDAL   OF    TENXACOOK. 


i;u 


■J 


>i 


his  own  raon  to  wait  upon  lier  to  lior  fiitlier'.s  territories,  as  did 
become  him  ;  ])iit  now  that  slio  had  an  intent  to  return,  it  ilid 
become  her  father  to  send  lier  back  with  a  convoy  of  his  own 
people;  and  that  it  stood  not  witli  Winnc'purkit's  reputation 
either  to  make  himself  or  his  men  so  servile  as  to  fetch  her 
again." 

Thereupon  the  old  sachem,  Passaconaway,  was  niucli  incensed 
at  having  this  curt  answer  returned  to  him  liy  one  whom  he 
considered  at  most  only  a  jK'tty  chief  and  a  vassal;  and  being 
moreover  sadly  nettled  to  think  that  his  son-in-law  shoiUd  pre- 
tend to  give  him,  Passaconaway,  a  lesson  in  good-breeding,  or 
did  not  esteem  him  more  highly  than  to  juake  this  a  n)atter  for 
negotiation,  sent  back  this  sharp  rejjly  :  "  That  his  daughter's 
blood  and  birth  deserved  more  respect  than  to  ])e  slighted  in 
such  a  manner,  and  therefore  if  he  (W'inuepurkit)  would  have 
her  company,  he  were  best  to  send  or  come  for  her." 

The  young  sachem,  not  being  willing  to  undervalue  himself, 
and  being  withal  a  man  of  stout  spirit,  did  not  hesitate  to  tell 
his  imlignant  father-in-law  that  he  must  either  send  his  daughter 
home  in  charge  of  his  own  escort,  or  else  he  might  keep  her  ; 
since  Wiunepurkit  was,  for  his  own  part,  fully  determined  not 
to  stoop  so  low. 

As  neither  would  yield,  the  poor  princess  remained  with  her 
father,  —  at  least  until  Morton,  the  narrator,  left  the  country; 
but  she  is  supposes  to  have  finally  rejoined  her  haughty  spouse, 
though  in  what  way  does  not  appear  in  the  later  relation  before 
us.  She  was  no  true  »voman,  however,  if  she  failed  to  discover 
a  means  to  soften  the  proud  heart  of  Wiunepurkit,  who  after 
all  was  perhaps  only  too  ready  to  accord  to  her  tears  and  her 
entreaties  what  he  had  so  loftily  refused  at  tlu;  instigation  of  a 
punctiliousness  that  was  worthy  of  the  days  of  chivalry. 

The  poet  has  made  a  most  felicitous  use  of  this  story,  into 
which  are  introduced  some  descriptions  of  the  scenery  of  the 
;^[errimack  of  exceeding  beauty  and  grace.  The  poem  has, 
however,  a  more  dramatic  ending  than  the  prose-tale  we  have 
just  given.     In  the  poem  the  heart-broken  and  deserted  bride  of 


rr. 


132 


NEW-ENGLANI)    LKdENDS. 


I.; 


Pennacook  at  last  dctcnninu.s  to  brave  the  perils  of  tla-  swollcni 
iuul  turbid  Mei'riiuack  aluue,  tu  seek  tlu;  wigwam  of  her  dusky 
husband.  Stealing  away  from  her  coin].aiuons,  she  launches 
her  frail  canoe  upon  the  bosuni  <-)f  the  torrent,  and  is  instantly 
swept  by  it,  — 

Down  the  vexed  centre  of  that  rusliiug  tide, 
The  thick  lui^^e  ice-blocks  ihreuteniug  either  side, 
T))e  i'oaui-white  rocks  of  Anio.skeag  in  view, 
Willi  arrowv  swiftness  — 


Down  llie  white  rapids  like  a  son-  h'af  whirUid, 
On  tile  sharp  rocks  and  itih'd-up  ices  luuled, 
Empty  and  broken,  circleil  the  canoe 
In  the  vexed  pool  below—  Ijut  where  was 
Weetamoo  ? 


THE   PIRATES'    GLEN. 

THE  year  1G58  was  signalized  in  New  England  by  a  great 
earthquake,  Avhich  is  mentioned  in  some  of  the  old  cln-on- 
ieles.  Connected  with  this  convulsion,  which  in  the  olden 
time  was  regarded  as  a  most  signal  mark  of  the  ilispleasure  of 
Heaven,  is  the  following  story.  There  are,  it  should  be  said, 
two  or  three  circumstances,  or  rather  facts,  giving  to  this  legend 
a  color  of  authenticity,  which  are  of  themselves  suificient  to 
create  a  doubt  whether,  after  all,  it  has  not  a  more  substantial 
foundation  than  has  generally  been  concede.l  to  it.  We  will- 
ingly give  it  the  lienelit  of  this  doubt ;  meanwhile  contenting 
oiu'selvcs  with  the  statement  that  its  first  appearance  in  print, 
so  far  as  known  to  the  writer,  was  in  Lewis's  "  History  of  Lynn." 
But  here  is  the  legend  in  all  its  purity. 


'Iij[    ' 

■  1      ' 

1  !   ■           ; 

SI    V 

1 

THE  I'lKATEs'  (;li;n. 


133 


Some  timo  previous  to  tho  great  o;irtli(iuake,  in  the  twiliglit 
of  ii  plciisaiit  evciiiiig  on  tlic  coast,  a  small  l)ark  was  seen  to 
approach  the  shore,  i'url  her  sails,  and  drop  her  anchor  near  the 
mouth  of  Saugus  Kiver.     A  boat  was  presently  lowered   from 
her  sidf,  which  four  men  got  into  and  rowed  silently  up  the 
river  to  where  it  enters  the  hills,  when  they  huuled,  and  plunged 
into  the  woods  skirting  the  lianks.     These  movements  had  been 
noticed  by  only  a  few  individuals  ;  I)ut  in  those  early  times, 
when  the  people  were  surrounded  by  dangers  and  wore  easily 
alarmed,  such  an  incident  was  well  calculated  to  awaken  sus- 
picion, so  that  in  the  course  of  the  evening  the  intelligence  had 
spread  from  house  to  house,   and   many  were   the  conjectures 
respecting  tin;  strangers'  business.      In   the   morning  all  eyes 
were   naturally  directed    towanl    the    shore,   in    search    of  the 
stranger-vessel  :    but  she  was    no    longer   there,   and    no   trace 
either  of  her  or  of  her  singular  crew  could  be  imind.      It  was  af- 
terward learned,  however,  that  on  tlic  morning  of  the  vessel's 
disappearance  a  workman,  upon  going  to  his  daily  task  at  the 
Korge,  on  the  river's  bank,  had  found  a  paper  running  to  the 
ell'ect  that  if  a  certain  quantity  of  shackles,  haudcull's,  and  other 
articles  named  were  made,  and  with  secrecy  depositeil  in  a  cer- 
tain  place   in  (lie  woods,  which  was   particularly   described,  an 
amount  of  silver  e(pial  to  their  fnll  value  would  be  found  in 
their  stead.     The  manacles  were  duly  made  and  secreted,  in 
conformity    with    the    strange    directions.       On    the    following 
morning  tliey  had  been  taken  away,  and  the  money  left  accord- 
ing to  the  letter  of  the  promi.se  ;  l)ut  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  a  strict  watch  had  been  kept,  no  sign  of  a  vessel  could  l)e 
discovered  in  the  oiling.     Some  months  later  tlian  this  event, 
which  had  furnished  a   fruitful  theme  for  the  village  gossips, 
the  four  men  retr.ued,  and  .selected  one   of  the  most  secluded 
and  romantic  spots  in  the  woods  of  Saugus  for  their  abode  ;  and 
the   tale   has  been   further  embellished   to  tluj  eflect  that  the 
pirate  chief  brought  with  him  a  beautiful  woman.     The  place 
of  their  retreat  Avas  a  deep  and  narrow  valley,  shut  in  on  two 
sides  by  craggy,  precipitous  rocks,  and  screenetl  on  the  others 


i;u 


N  !•: \V- K N ( ;  L A N I )   L KC  i: N I  )S. 


\ 


h  ':• 


■ 

! 

u*  1  ^  \ 

Ity  a  thick  growth  of  piin's,  hi'iiilocks,  lunl  cellars.  Tliorf  was 
(inly  (iiif  Kiiiall  siKit  to  which  tins  rays  of  the  nooiulay  sun  could 
pc'iictrati'.  rpoii  clinihinj^  the  ruilo  and  nearly  i)orpenili(;ular 
steep  of  the  cliU"  on  tiio  ea^U'rn  sitlt^  of  this  j^den,  the  eye  coni- 
n>  'uletl  a  noble  expanse  of  sea  stretching'  far  to  the  south,  Ixv- 
sii  i\s  a  wide  extent  of  the  surroundii.„'  country.  No  spot  on 
the  coast  could  have  lieen  l)ctter  chosen  for  the  double  purpose 
of  ooncealnient  and  observation.  Even  at  this  day,  when  th(^ 
nei;^']iborlioo(l  has  lieconu;  thickly  peoided,  it  is  still  a  lonely 
and  desolates  jilace,  whose  gloomy  recesses  arc  coiiniaratively 
unknown  and  unvisiteil.  Here  thi!  pirates  built  tlaMiiselves  a 
small  hut,  made  a  garden,  and  dug  a  well,  o[  which  some  traces 
.still  remain.  It  is  suppo.sed  that  they  also  buried  money  here, 
and  search  has  been  made  for  it  at  various  times,  but  none  has 
ever  been  fouml ;  and  to  deepen  the  mysttu-y,  it  is  .said  that  the 
pirate's  mistress,  who  is  described  as  very  pale  and  Iteautiful, 
having  sickened  and  died,  was  buried  hero  in  an  unknown  grave, 
under  tli"  thick  shade  of  the  pines.  After  a  time  the  retr(;at  of 
the  ])irates  became  noised  about.  They  were  traced  to  their  glen. 
Three  of  them  were  taken  to  England.  —  there  being  at  that 
time  no  law  in  the  Colony  to  punish  piracy,  —  where  it  is  sup- 
])o.scd  that  they  paid  the  jienalty  for  their  crimes  upon  the  gib- 
bet. The  thir<l,  wlmsc  name  was  Thomas  Veale,  escaped  to  a 
cavern  iu  the  woods,  which  he  and  his  confederates  had  jjrevi- 
ously  made  use  of  as  a  place  of  deposit  for  tlieir  ill-g(jtteu  booty. 
In  this  lonely  place  the  fugitive  iixcd  his  residen(;e,  practising 
the  trade  of  a  shoemaker,  and  occasiomdly  visiting  the  village 
to  obtain  food,  until  the  eartlKpiako  which  ushered  in  the 
legend,  splitting  to  its  foundations  the  rock  in  which  the  cavern 
was  situated,  forever  sealed  the  entrance,  enclosing  the  doomed 
corsair  in  liis  frightful  tonili.  This  clilf  has  ever  since  been 
known  as  Dinigeon  Eock,  ami  the  lirst  retreat  of  the  free- 
booters has  always  borne  the  name  of  The  Pirates'  (ilen. 

The  sequel  to  the  legend  that  we  have  so  conscientiously 
related  to  the  reader,  is  more  striking  by  its  reality,  more  incred- 
ible, one  might  almost  say,  than  the  legend  itself  is,  with  all  its 


1 

J 


\ 


TIIK    I'IKATF.s'    f.LKN. 


135 


(Iramatio  suiToundings.  The  story  of  Dungeon  \lor.k  now  leiivcs 
the  realm  of  tlie  legenilary  for  Unit  of  iictivc!  supernutnral 
Ji^'ency  ;  and  it  may  be  doulitcil  if  tlio  whole  world  can  prudnce 
another  such  fxample  of  the  absorhing  pursuit  of  an  idea  which 
has  become  tiie  iixed  and  dominant  imi)ul,se  of  a  life,  liut  iir.st 
let  ns  introduce  the  reader  to  the  locality  itself. 

Two  miles  out  of  the  city  of  Lynn,  in  the  heart  of  the  secluded 
and  romantic  region  (jvcrlooking  it,  is  a  hill  high  and  steep,  one 
side  of  which  is  a  naked  precipice  ;  the  other,  which  the  road 
ascends,  is  .-till  covered  with  a  niagnihcent  grove  of  oak-trees 
growing  among  enormous  bowlders,  and  clad,  when  1  saw  tiieni, 
in  the  rags  of  tiicir  autuiiiiial  purple.  Few  wilder  or  more 
pictures(iue  spots  can  ])e  found  among  the  White  Jlills  ;  and 
here  wc.  are  not  a  dozen  miles  removed  from  the  homes  of  half 
a  million  people.  The  rumored  existence  of  treasure  siiut  up  in 
the  heart  of  this  clilf  l)y  the  earthquake  seems  to  ha\e  found 
credit  in  tlK!  neighl)orhood,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  evidences 
of  a  heavy  explosion  in  what  was  supposed  to  1)0  the  ancient 
vestibule  of  the  cavern,  where  a  yawning  ri'ut  in  the  side  of  tlio 
ledge  is  blocked  up  with  tons  of  massy  dehris  and  cnerv  ves- 
tige {)''  what  was  perhai)s  an  inten.'sting  natural  curiosity  thus 
wantonly  destroyed. 

I'mlcr  the  direction  of  spirit  mediums,  the  work  of  piercing 
Dungeon  JJock  was  begun  by  Hiram  Marble  about  thirty  years 
ago,  and  has  continued,  with  little  intermission,  nearly  to  the 
pr(!sent  time.  For  niort;  tlian  a  (juarter  of  a  century, — s|)urred 
on,  when  they  were  ready  to  al)an(lon  the  work  in  ilespair,  l)y 
some  delusive  revelation  of  the  spirits,  —  father  and  son  toiled  on 
in  the  vain  hope  of  unlocking  its  secret.  Tons  upon  tons  oi 
the  broken  rock  have  lieen  removed  by  tlieii'  hands  alone,  foi' 
the  windings  of  the  galleiy  make  any  m(Mdianical  contrivance 
u.seless  for  the  jnirpose.  80  hard  is  the  natural  formation,  that 
they  sometimes  advanced  only  a  foot  in  a  month  ;  and  i\w  labor 
■was  further  increased  Ijy  the  accumulation  of  water,  which  is 
constantly  oozing  from  fissures  of  the  rock.  Death  at  hmgth 
released  the  elder  enthusiast  from  his  infatuation  ;  but  the  son 


I 


l.".l) 


NKW-EN(iLANl)    LKfJENUS. 


m\ 


iiM 


pursued  the  work  as  the  most  sacn'tl  ol'  trusts,  until  lie  too  diod 
ill  the  same  fatal  dt^lusioii. 

A  woman  whom  I  found  in  the  caliiu  on  the  summit,  and 
who  proved  to  lui  the  ticasuiv-.scckcr'.s  sister,  conducted  nie  to 
the  entrance  of  the  sliaft,  which  was  closed  hy  a  grateil  door, 
above  which  I  read  this  eminently  practical  legend  in  an  unprac- 
tical place  :  "  Ve  wlio  enter  here,  leave  twenty-live  cents  behind." 
She  turned  the  k(;y  in  the  lock,  swung  back  the  grating,  and  we 
began  to  descend,  lirst  by  a  series  of  steps  cut  in  the  rock,  th(!n 
by  such  foothold  as  the  slippery  lloor  adbrded.  When  we 
arrived  at  the  extreiu(i  limit  of  the  excavation,  we  had  come  not 
far  lidui  one  hundretl  and  lifty  feot  in  a  perpendicular  descent 
of  only  forty ;  yet  I  remarked  that  the  gallery  at  times  almost 
doubled  ui)on  itself,  in  order  to  accomplish  what  might  have 
been  reached  in  half  the  distance,  and,  of  course,  with  half  the 
labor,  in  a  direct  line,  —  which  woukl  seem  to  imply  that  the 
work  might  have  proceeded  more  expeditiously  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  competent  mining  engineer.  Nothing  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  rock  indicated  that  it  had  been  disturbed  since  the' 
creation.  It  was  as  hard  as  adamant,  as  lirm  as  marble,  as 
impenetrable  as   Fate. 

My  guide  pointed  out  the  su[)posed  locality  of  the  anc  nt 
entrance.  She  also  showed  me,  as  a  thing  to  which  the  fee  duly 
entitled  even  such  sceptics  os  myself,  the  fragment  of  a  corroded 
sca,bbard,  which  had  been  found,  she  said,  embedded  in  a  cranny 
within  tlui  excavation.  But  when  I  afterward  mentioned  this 
circumstance  to  the  poet  Longfellow,  who  was  familiar  with  the 
locality  and  its  story,  he  laugheil  pleasantly,  and  said  that  unless 
his  memory  was  greatly  at  fault,  he  had  seen,  years  before,  during 
one  of  his  drives  in  the  neighborhood,  this  identical  thing  at  a 
blacksmith's  shoj)  wluire  he  had  stopi)ed  on  some  errand.  Such 
questions  as  I  asked  were  freely  answered ;  but  she  talked  in  a 
way  that  was  almost  startling  in  its  mattor-of-fact  assumption  of 
the  supernatural  as  the  controlling  element  in  one's  life  experi- 
ence. The  invisible  spirits  of  Dungeon  Rock  I  found  dealt  in 
enigmas  which  the  Delphic  oracle  could  never  have  surpassed ; 


i 


\w 


M()|,L    l'IT(;iIKI{. 


l.M^ 


yot  hero  woro  belicvcirs  wlm  staked  tlutir  lives  upon  tho  truth  ol' 
utteriUKiCH  c'([U!illy  (Ichisivo  !  licit' tho  problem  is  suggestively 
jiresented,  wiictlHT  luttcr-diiy  supcrstitiini,  acting  upon  the  weak 
and  iniprcssilili'  nature:,  is  on  tlic  whole  to  l)e  preferred,  either  in 
its  manifestations  or  results,  to  olden  delusion  as  exomplilied  in 
the  witches  or  wizards  of  our  I'orefathers.  Who  slu.U  say  {  I, 
at  any  rate,  found  this  visit  to  Hungeon  Kock  one  of  the  most 
singular  experiences  of  a  lil'etiiiic. 


MOLL     PI  T  C  II  E  R. 


IN  passing  from  the  boundaries  of  Saugus  into  those  of  Lynn, 
a  word  or  two  actpiaints  us  with  the  origin  of  both  places. 
Thomas  Dudley,  Deputy-dovernor  of  "the  Massachusetts," 
writing  in  1<)30  to  the  "  Lady  Uryget,  Countessc  of  Lincoln," 
says  of  tlio  Colonists  wlio,  like  himself,  emigrated  in  that  year 
from  Kngland,  "We,  began  to  consult  of  the  place  of  our  sitting 
down,  fur  Salem,  where  we  landed,  pleased  us  not."  Various 
caus(!s  having  led  to  their  disjiersion  along  the  coast  from  Cape 
Ann  to  Nantasket,  one  of  the  scattered  bands  settled  "upon  the 
river  of  Saugus,"  as  he  writes  ;  another  founded  Boston.  'I'ho 
Indian  name  Saugus,  which  still  belongs  to  the  river  and  to  a 
fragment  of  the  ancient  territory,  was  superseded  in  1().'?7  by 
that  of  Lynn,  or  the,  King's  Lyim,  -^  m  Lynn  liogis,  on  the 
Iliver  Ou.se,  in  England.  Lynn  is  therefore  one  of  tlie  oldest 
towns  in  Massachusetts.  It  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  shore 
of  Mas.sachusetts  Bay,  ten  niih's  north  of  Boston  and  live  south 
of  Salem.  Swami)scot  is  a  ril»  taken  from  her  side;  so  is 
Nahant,  and  so  is  Lynnheld ;  yet,  like  the  fabled  mcmster,  she 
seeuis  to  grow  the  faster  from  successive  mutilations. 

If  one  may  cnulit  the  legend,  Veale,  the  pirate  recluse  of 
Dungeon  Kock,  was  among  the  first  to  follow  the  trade  of  a 
"cordwainer"  here;  but  it  may  be  questioned  whether  he  is 


138 


NFAV-KN(ILANI)   LF.CKNDS. 


;» 


i 


f'M 


rciiUy  looked  upon  us  nnc  of  tlio  r()Uii(l(!r.s  of  tho  cmft.  I>o  tliiit 
ua  it  luay,  it  is  ceitiiin  that  or.o  of  tin;  carlitjst  Hcttlrrs,  FrunciH 
lii'j;iills  by  niuiu',  cstiihlislicJ  tlic  first  tannery  in  all  tho  colony, 
and  li(.'  may  tlierofort'  bu  considiTcd  lliu  tn^^inator  of  that 
Ijranch  of  industry,  in  tho  steady  pursuit  of  which  Lynn  has 
grown  to  bo  both  rich  and  fanmus.  When  shocmaking  was  a 
trade,  1   supj)ose   that  nearly  every  man  in   Lynn  was  a  shoo- 


MOLI,   I'lTCUKR. 

maker ;  but  now,  when  no  one  person  makes  a  whole  boot  or 
a  whole  shoe,  the  trade,  as  a  trade,  has  degenerated.  Two  of  tho 
noblest  men  that  America  has  produced  have  graduated  from  tho 
shooniaker's  bench.  The  jjoet  Whittier  once  followed  this  huniljle 
calling,  until  he  found  his  higher  vocation  ;  and  the  philanthro- 
])ist,  "William  Lloyd  Oarrison,  once  worked  at  tho  l)ench  here  in 
Lynn.  This  ancient  handicraft  is  therefore  by  no  means  with- 
out some  very  honorable  traditions. 

But  Lynn  is  likely  to  be  celebrated  throughout  all  time  as  hav- 
ing been  the  residence  of  the  most  successful  fortune-teller  of  her 


■m 


MOLI,    I'lTCIIKK. 


lay 


(lay  aiul  gonoration,  —  wo  mij^'lil  ul.su  any  of  whom  we  Imvo  any 
uccdimt  in  in\slR';il  loiv,  ancient  or  niuilorn.  Whilo  she  livoj 
HJic  was  witlKiiil  a  rival  in  iicr  peculiar  art,  ami  the  prophetic 
words  that  slio  let  I'all  were  ea[)al)le  of  l)eing  transmuted  into 
gold.  She  it  is  that  one  of  our  native  poeta  has  in  mind  when 
he  is  singing  ~  too  .'^oon,  wt!  think, — a  re(piiem  over  the  last 
witch  of  his  native  land. 


Ildw  liiis  >«'ew  England's  romance  tied, 

Even  as  a  vision  of  the  morning  ! 
Its  rites  foredone,  —  its  guardians  dead,  — 
Its  priestessi's,  lierel't  of  dreail, 

Waking  tlie  veriest  urchin's  scorninj,' .' 
Gone  like  the  Indian  wizard's  yell 

And  lire-dance  round  the  ma,!^'ic  rock, 
Forgotten  like  the  Druid's  spell 

At  moonrisi:  liy  his  IkiIv  oak! 
No  more  alun^;  the  shadowy  ^den 
Glide  the  dim  ^diosts  of  niurdere(l  men  ; 
No  more  the  umpiiet  churchyard  dead 
Glimpse  upward  from  their  turly  l)ed, 

Startling  liie  tiaveller,  late  and  lone  ; 
As,  on  some  id^lil  of  starless  weather, 
They  silently  conumme  together. 

Each  sitting  on  his  own  heailstone  ! 
The  roofless  house,  decayed,  deserted, 
Its  living  tenants  all  dejiarted, 
No  longer  rin^s  willi  nudnii^lit  revel 
Of  witch,  or  ghost,  or  j,fi)l)lin  evil  ; 
No  jiale  hlue  (lame  sends  out  its  flashes 
Through  creviced  roof  and  shattered  sashes!  — 
The  witch-,L,'rass  round  the  ha/id  spring 
May  sharply  to  the  ni.L;lit-air  sing. 
Rut  there  no  more  shall  witlujred  hags 
Refresh  at  ease  their  liroomstick  nags, 
Or  taste  those  hazel-shadowed  waters 
As  heverage  meet  for  Satan's  daughters ; 
No  more  their  minuc  tones  he  heard,  — 
The  mew  of  cat,  —  the  chirp  of  hird,  — 


r 


140 


nkw-i:N(;lami  i,i;(;f.niis. 


shrill  lih'tuliii},'  willi  llu'  h(iar»»i'r  liuij^litiT 
Of  till-  IVIl  i1l-iii()Ii  tulldwiii^'  al'Utrt 

Evfii  slic-,  iiiir  Kwii  wi'inl  hcroiiu', 

Sole  I'vtllii|it-s  uf  uiicit'llt  liVnil, 

Slicps  ciliiily  wluic  till'  liviii;,'  laid  ber  ; 
Ami  the  widr  realm  dl' sorci-rv, 
lifi'l  liy  its  latest  mistress  iVee, 

Math  tuuiul  no  ''rav  aiul  skilled  iiivadur. 


ir 


III 


It  was  once  said  (d'  Na]i()le(iii  that  lie  lel'i  a  l'amil\',  hut  no 
8ii(!c('ss(ir.  M(dl  Pitcher  left  iKiiii!  ill  her  wtiiiderl'iil  ;^iri  of  t'ons- 
tcdliiij,'  the  lilt  lire  hy  practising'  palmistry,  <»r  by  simply  ga/ing 
into  tlio  hottom  <>!'  a  teacup.  She  was  therefore  no  Si(lro[)hel, 
Yot  even  tlie  most  incredulous  were  compelled  to  admit  her  pro- 
dictions  to  be  wiiolly  unaccountable  ;  while  those  who  came  to 
laugh  went  away  van([uished,  if  not  fully  cuiivinced.  What  is 
singular  is  that  her  reputation  has  ratbcr  increased  than  dimin- 
ished with  time.  We  have  no  account  of  her  dupes,  nor  is 
then;  any  "  Exposure  "  extant.  It  follows  that  the  spot  where 
for  so  many  years  Moll  Pitcher  so  successfully  practised  her  art 
is  the  one  to  which  the  stranger  lirst  asks  to  l)e  directed. 

.Shoulil  he  happen  to  stray  a  litth-  way  out  of  the  more 
crowded  part  of  the  city,  his  attention  would  at  once  be  arrested 
by  a  remarkable  diif  of  dull  red  porphyry  rising  bigh  above  the 
house-tops,  tliat  has  apparently  detached  itself  from  the  broken 
hill-range  which  skirts  the  coast,  and  has  elbowed  its  way  into 
the  plain,  thrusting  the  houses  aside  out  (jf  its  path,  until  it 
almo.st  divides  the  city  in  twain.  Tligb  Rock,  as  it  is  called,  is 
to  Lynn  what  the  Citadel  is  t(j  Quebec,  —  you  look  down,  and  see 
at  a  glance  all  the  out-iloor  life  of  the  plact; ;  you  look  up,  and 
see  the  blue  arch  of  the  sky  springing  from  the  rim  of  the 
ocean. 

The  following  poetical  description  of  the  ravishing  view  of  sea 
and  shore  unrolled  from  the  summit  of  High  Kock  naturally 
takes  precedence  of  our  own  :  — 


MOM.   riTCIIKU. 


141 


llKill     KOCK. 

r.I,lZAlil.Tn    F.    MKUUILL. 

OvKHi.ooKiNd  till'  town  ot  liynn, 

So  I'ar  ultDve  tliiit  llui  city'n  <lin 

Miii;,'li's  ami  l>ltii«ls  with  tlic  licavy  mar 

Of  till!  bmikiT^  .ilnii-.'  till'  .iirviii','  .■^liorc, 

aourreil  ami  I'urn.wcil  ami  j,'Lui»!i-Muumi't.l, 

Back  ill  the  a^,'cs  so  loii;,'  a;,'o, 

Till'  holdcHt  i>hilos{iiiliL'r  m-viT  iln-auiuil 

To  I'oiiiit  the  fi'iitmic.V  fl)l>  and  How, 

SlamU  a  mck  with  its  ^ray  oM  lace 

Kiistwaiil.  cvir  turiuMl  to  the  plm'c 

Where  hrst  the  rim  of  the  :niii  i.s  seen, — 

Whenever  the  morning'  sky  is  hri^'ht, — 

Cleavin-,'  the  ^,'listenini,'.  f^'lamin;,'  slieen 

Of  the  sea  with  <lisk  of  insulierahle  lii,'ht. 

Down  in  the  earth  his  roots  strike  (leep  ; 

rp  to  his  breast  the  houses  inn'](. 

Cliiuhinj,'  e'en  to  his  ru>,'<;eil  I'aeu, 

Or  iiestlin,:^'  lovin;;ly  at  his  base. 

Stand  on  his  i'onhead,  hare  and  brown, 

Send  your  },'aze  o'er  the  roofs  of  the  town 

Away  to  the  line  so  faint  and  <lini, 

Where  the  sky  stooi)s  <lown  to  the  crystal  riin 

Of  the  broad  Atlantic,  whose  bilh)Ws  toss, 

Wrestliu),'  and  weltering,'  and  luirryint,'  on 

With  awful  fury  whenever  across 

Tlis  broad  bright  surface,  with  howl  and  nioan, 

The  Tempest  wheels,  with  black  win^'  bowed 

To  the  yieldint,'  waters  which  fly  to  the  cloud. 

Or  hurry  alon.L;  with  thunderous  shocks 

To  break  on  the  ra-,'j;ed  and  riven  rocks. 

When  the  tide  conies  in  on  a  sunny  day 
You  can  see  the  waves  beat  back  in  sjiray 
From  the  splintered  spurs  of  Phillips  Head, 
Or  tripping  alon<,'  with  dainty  tread, 


',M 


::  I 


14'^  NKW-ENGLAND    LKCENDS. 

As  of  ii  million  glancing  feet, 

Shako  out  tRe  light  in  a  iiuick  retreat, 

Or  along  the  sinootli  curve  of  the  IxMcli, 

Snowy  and  curling,  in  long  linen  reach. 

An  islet  anchored  and  held  to  land 

By  a  glistening,  i'oani-fringed  riljl)on  of  sand  ; 

That  is  Nahant,  and  that  hoary  ledge 

To  the  left  is  Egg  Rock,  like  a  blunted  wedge, 

Cleaving  the  restless  ocean's  breast, 

And  bearing  the  lighthouse  on  its  crest. 

It  was  at  the  foot  of  this  cliff  that  Moll  Pitcher,  the  fortune- 
teller of  Lynn,  dwelt.  Forty  years  ago  there  were  very  few  fire- 
sides in  New  England  that  her  fame  liatl  nt)t  reached,  perhaps 
disturbed ;  and  her  successful  predictions,  alike  astounding  to 
the  vulgar  or  to  the  enlightened,  were  tlie  theme  of  many  a  mid- 
night watch  or  forecastle  confab.  She  was  not,  if  we  may  credit 
local  report,  the  withered,  decrepit,  and  toothless  crone  of 
Spenser,  or  Otway's 

"  wrinkled  hag,  with  age  grown  double, 
Picking  dry  sticks  and  mumbling  to  herself," 

but  a  Woman  who  lived  in  the  full  gaze  and  gossip  of  a  world 
which  only  accepted  lier  claim  to  foreknowledge  upon  the  une- 
quivocal testimony  of  a  thousand  witnesses.  Do  you  contend 
that  her  reputation  was  due  solely  to  the  shrewdness,  penetra- 
tion, and  ready  wit  with  wliich  she  was  undoubtedly  in  a 
remarkable  degree  gifted  1  How,  then,  will  you  explain  revela 
tions  of  the  future  made  ten  and  twenty  years  Ijcfore  the  events 
predicted  took  place  1 

When  she  was  in  the  meridian  of  her  fame  and  life  the  ordi- 
nary applicant  saw  a  woman  of  medium  stature,  having  an 
unusually  large  head,  a  pale,  thin,  and  rather  intellectual  face, 
shaued  by  masses  of  dark  brown  hair,  who  was  as  thoroughly 
self-possessed  as  he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  whose  comprehensive 
glance  measured  his  mental  capacity  before  he  could  utter  a 
syllable.     People  of  better  discernment,  who  recollect  her,  say 


^ 


MOLL    I'lTUllEK. 


143 


that  lier  face  harl  none  of  the  wiUlnesG  of  the  traditional  witdi, 
but  was  cl()U(k'(l  with  a  habitual  sadness,  as  of  a  mind  over- 
biudenc'd  with  being  the  depositury  uf  so  many  conlidencus, 
pci'iiapi;  cvim(!s.  Slie  had  a  full,  capacious  forehead,  arched  eye- 
brows, eyes  that  read  the  secret  thoughts  of  a  suitor,  a  nose 
"inclined  to  be  long,"  and  thin  lijis  —  a  physiognomy  wholly 
unlike  the  popular  ideal,  but  rather  that  of  a  modern  Egeria,  — 
in  short,  tlu'  witch  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

During  the  fifty  years  that  she  pursued  her  trade  of  fortune- 
telling,  in  what  was  then  a  lonely  and  little  frequented  quarter 


,,TO ' 

MOLL    I'lTCMEU's    COTTAGE. 


i 


of  the  town,  not  only  was  she  consulted  by  the  poor  and  igno- 
rant, but  also  by  the  rich  and  intelligent  class.  Love  affairs, 
legacies,  the  discovery  of  crime,  lotteries,  commercial  ventures, 
and  the  more  common  contingencies  of  fortune,  formed,  we  may 
well  imagine,  the  staple  of  her  predictions  ;  but  her  most  valued 
clients  came  from  the  o])ident  seaports  that  are  within  sight  of 
High  Rock.  The  common  sailor  and  the  master,  the  cabin-boy 
and  the  owner,  equally  resorted  to  her  humltle  abode  to  know 
t.ie  luck  of  a  voyage.  It  is  asserted  that  many  a  vessel  has 
been  deserted  when  on  the  eve  of  sailing,  in  consequence  of 


»H 


•F- 


144 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


* 


iif!| 

'if! 


Moll's  unlucky  vaticination.  Slu;  Wiis  iil.so  much  besought  by 
troasurc-soekers  —  a  rati' ;r  numerous  class  in  her  day,  \vhos(! 
united  digging  along  the  coast  of  New  England  would,  if  use- 
fully directed,  have  reclaimed  for  cultivation  no  inconsideral)le 
ai'ea  of  virgin  soil.  For  such  a^jjlicants  the  witch  had  a  short 
and  sharp  reply.  "Fools!"  she  would  say;  "if  1  knew  when; 
money  was  buried,  do  you  think  I  would  part  with  the 
secret  r' 

Moll  Pitcher  died  in  1813,  at  the  age  of  seventy-five.  She 
was  originally  of  Marbleheail,  and  is  said  to  have  inherited  the 
gift  of  prophecy  from  her  grandfather,  .Icdm  Dimond,  who  was 
himself  a  wizard  of  no  mean  reputation  in  that  place.  In  proof 
of  this  it  is  said  tiiat  ho  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  the  old  bury- 
ing-ground  on  the  liill  whenever  a  violent  gale  at  sea  arose,  and 
in  that  lonely  j)lace,  in  tht!  midst  of  the  darkness  and  the  storm, 
to  astound  and  terrify  the  simple  lisherfolk  in  the  following 
manner.  lie  would  direct  vessels  then  at  sea  ho'  to  weather 
the  roughest  gale,  —  pacing  up  and  down  among  the  grave- 
stones, and  ever  and  anon,  in  a  voice  distinctly  heard  above  the 
howling  of  the  tempest,  shout  his  orders  to  the  helmsman  or 
the  crew,  as  if  he  were  actually  on  the  (luarter-deck,  and  the 
scene  all  before  him.  Very  few  doubted  his  ability  to  bring  a 
vessel  safely  into  port.  Mary  Dimond's  father  sailetl  out  of  Mar- 
blehead  as  master  of  a  small  vessel.  She  married  Robert  Pitcher, 
a  shoemaker,  in  1700  Mr.  Lewis,  the  historian  of  Ljnn,  who 
remembered  her,  asserts  that  she  was  connected  with  some  of  the 
best  families  in  Essex  ;  that,  except  her  fortune-telling  pretension, 
there  wa-j  nothing  disreputable  in  her  life  ;  and  that  her  descend- 
ants were  living  and  respected  when  he  wrote.  Her  life  seems 
rather  to  mark  the  line  which  divides  old  and  new  superstition, 
than  any  decay  of  that  inextinguishable  craving  to  pry  into  futu- 
rity Avhich  has  distinguished  the  human  race  in  all  ages  and  in 
all  climes. 

This  describes  the  celebrated  fortune-teller  as  she  was  known 
to  her  contemporaries.  We  have,  however,  jjicked  up  among 
the  flotsam  of  literary  drift  a  dilferent  portrait,  drawn  in  verse. 


1 


» 


'  . 


MOLL    riTCIIER. 


145 


In  1832  "Whittier  jmbli-slioil,  uiKJiiymously,  a  poem  of  wliich 
Mull  Pitclier  is  tin-  heioinc.  The  stalciuent  madi!  by  the  autli(jr 
in  an  introductory  note  conccniin^f  liiinsolf  will  tloubtless  be 
onsidcrL'tl  to-ihiy  as  being  even  a  j^reater  curiosity  than  the  poem 
itsieli'  is.  Tlicre  he  naively  says  :  "  I  have  not  enougli  of  the  poeti- 
cal mania  in  my  dispojjition  to  dream  of  converting,  by  an  alchemy 
more  potent  than  that  of  the  old  i)hilosophers,  a  limping  couplet 
into  a  brace  of  dcjubloons,  or  a  rickety  stanza  into  a  note  of  hand. 
Moll  ritclier  ('tlicn^'s  music  in  the  name')  is  the  oll'spring  of  a 
few  weeks  of  such  leisure  as  is  allbrded  by  indispo.sition,  and  is 
given  to  the  world  in  all  its  original  negligence,  —  the  thoughts 
fresh  as  when  lirst  originated." 

The  poem  is  the  story  of  a  maid(!n,  fond  ami  fair,  whose  sailor 
lover  had  gone  on  a  long  voyage  to  sea,  where 

He  sought  for  gold  —  for  yellow  gold,  — 

in  order  that  he  might  come  back  a  rich  man  and  wed  the  girl 
he  had  left  behind  him.  The  maiden's  mind  bec(jmes  tilled  with 
gloomy  forebodings  concerning  him.  Obc^ying  an  uncontrollable 
impulse,  in  an  evil  hour  she  seeks  the  well-trodden  i)ath  lead- 
ing to  Moll  Pitcher's  abode,  in  order  to  know  her  destiny ;  and 
while  on  her  way  thither  she  encounters  the  witch,  who  is  thus 
described  :  — 

She  stood  upon  a  bare  tall  crag 

Which  overlooked  her  rugged  cot  — 
A  wasted,  gray,  and  meagre  hag. 

In  features  evil  as  her  lot. 
She  had  the  ci'ooked  nose  of  a  witch, 

And  a  crooked  back  and  chin; 
And  in  her  gait  she  had  a  hitch, 
And  in  lier  hand  she  carried  a  switch. 

To  aid  her  work  of  sin,  — 
A  twig  of  wizard  hazel,  which 
Had  grown  beside  a  haunted  ditch, 
Where  a  mother  her  nameless  babe  had  thrown 
To  the  running  water  and  merciless  stone. 
10 


146 


NEW-ENflLANI)   LEGENDS. 


'I'lie  fortune-tollor  cherislios  a  secret  enmity  towiirils  lier  tveiu- 
l)liiig  visitor,  .and  wiclicilly  determines  on  revenging  herself. 
She  leading  the  way,  — 

The  twain  [lasse-il  in  —  a  low  diiik  room, 

Willi  lu'U;  luid  there  a  cra/.y  chair, 
A  Lioki'n  glass  —  a  dusty  loom  — 
A  si)inning-wheel  —  a  liinhen  broom, 

The  witch's  courier  of  the  air. 
As  potent  as  that  steed  of  wings 

On  Avhich  the  Meccan  prophet  rode 
Ahove  tlie  wreck  of  meaner  things 

Unlo  tlie  Ilouris'  bright  abode. 
A  low  dull  hre  by  Hashes  shone 
Ai'ross  the  gray  and  cold  hearthstone, 
Flinging  at  times  a  trendding  glare 
On  the  low  roof  and  tindjers  bare 

After  this  glimpse  of  her  home,  the  weird  woman  proceeds  to 
try  her  art  hy  looking  steadfastly  into  the  sorceress'.s  cup,  whicli, 
we  are  tohl,  constituted  htr  whole  tbrtune-telliug  paraphernalia. 
Presently  she  speaks. 

Out  spoke  the  witch,  — "T  know  full  well 

Why  thou  hast  sought  my  luuuble  cot ! 
Come,  sit  thee  down,  —  the  tale  I  tell 

May  not  be  soon  forgot." 
She  threw  her  pale  blue  cloak  aside, 

And  stirred  the  whiteiung  embers  up, 
And  long  and  curiously  she  eyed 

The  figures  of  her  mystic  cup  ; 
And  low  she  muttered   while  the  light 
Gave  to  her  lips  a  ghastlier  white. 
And  her  smik  eyes'  unearthly  glaring 
Seemed  like  the  taper's  latest  flaring: 
"  Dark  hair —  eyes  black  —  a  goodly  form  — 

A  maiden  weeping  —  wild  dark  sea  — 
A  tall  ship  tossing  in  the  storm  — 

A  black  wreck  floating  —  lohere  is  he  ? 


MOLL    I'lTCIIEK. 


147 


i 


Give  iiic  lliy  li.iiiil  —  how  soft,  iiiid  warm, 

Ami  lair  its  lapfiiiif,'  (iiigors  seem  !  — 
And  who  tliut  see.s  il  now  would  dieain 
Tl.'ut  winter's  snow  woiiKl  seem  less  ehill 
Ere  lon;^'  tlian  these  soft  tin^x-rs  will  i 
A  lovely  i)alni !  — how  ddieule 

Its  veined  and  wandeniij,'  lines  are  drawn  ! 
Yet  each  are  jirojihets  of  thy  fate  — 

Hal —  this  is  sun;  a  i'earfiil  one! 
Tiiat  sudden  cross  ^  that  blank  l)eneath  — 

What  may  these  evil  signs  heto.ven  '. 
Prtssidu  and  sorrow,  i'ear  and  deatii  — 

A  Ininian  .-[jirit  crushed  and  broken  ! 
Oh,  thine  hatli  l)een  a  [ileasant  dream. 
Hut  darker  shall  its  waking  seem  ! " 


Like  a  cold  hand  upon  lu'r  heart 

The  dark  words  t)f  the  sorceres.-i  lay, 
Something  to  scare  her  spirit's  rest 

Forever  more  away. 
Each  W(jrd  liad  seemed  so  strangely  true, 
Calling  her  inmost  thoughts  in  view, 
And  pointing  to  the  form  which  came 

Before  her  in  her  dreary  sleep, 
Whose  answered  love  —  whose  very  name, 
Though  nought  of  breathing  life  was  near, 

She  scarce  liad  given  the  winds  to  keep, 
Or  murmured  in  a  sister's  ear. 


Overcome  by  tho  terrible  revelation,  to  \\liich  her  own  fears 
lend  a  too  ready  belief,  the  poor  girl  becomes  a  maniac.  She  is 
ahvays  watching  for  the  sail  in  the  ofRng  which  never  comes  ; 
she  wanders  up  and  down  the  rocky  shores  of  Xahant,  gazing 
vacantly  out  to  sea,  until  on  one  lucky  day,  in  spite  of  Moll's 
fatal  prediction,  the  lover's  ship  sails  gallantly  into  the  bay,  ami 
with  it  the  one  thing  capable  of  restoring  the  maiden's  reason 
again.  The  witch,  however,  does  not  escape  the  consequences  of 
her   malevolence,   but   dies  miserably  in   her   wretched   hovel. 


■F 


i       F 


148 


NEW-ENGLAND  LEGENDS. 


being  tendctl  in  her  last  niomonts  by  a  littlo  child  of  the  woman 
she  has  so  cruelly  wronged. 

Tlu)  poem  being  too  li;ng   for  us  to   reproduce  iu  full,  we 
have  thus  merely  outlined  it  for  the  reader. 


![i 


NAIIANT    LEGENDS. 


hI 


:.t 


lin 


ABOUT  three  miles  from  where  we  stand,  rising  abruptly 
from  the  sea,  is  a  castellated  gray  rock  crowned  with  a 
lighthouse.  Egg  llock,  as  it  is  called,  is  not  more  than  eighty 
leet  from  sea  to  summit,  but  its  isolated  and  lonely  i)osition,  its 
bold  outlines  cut  clean  and  sharp  on  the  blue  backgrountl,  make 
it  seem  higher.  This  rocky  islet,  the  former  eyrio  of  wild  sea- 
birds,  is  by  far  the  most  picturesfj^uo  object  of  this  picturesque 
shore.  It  is  almost  always  seen  encircled  with  a  belt  of  white 
surf,  while  in  violent  storms  the  raging  seas  assail  it  with  such 
tremendous  impet\u)sity  as  to  give  the  idea  of  a  fortress  belea- 
•  •uered  by  the  combintid  powers  of  sea  and  air.  At  such  times  it 
cannot  be  approached  with  safety.  Then  the  lighthouse  keeper, 
whatever  his  wants  may  be,  can  hold  no  communication  with 
the  shore,  but  is  a  prisoner  during  the  pleasure  of  the  gale. 

The  occasional  and  distant  glimpses  of  Nahant  had  from  the 
main  shore  are  certain  to  excite  the  desire  for  a  nearer  survey,  n 
nu.re  intimate  acquaintance.  We  will,  therefore,  let  this  choice 
bit  of  description,  which  Mr.  Longfellow  particularly  admired, 
serve  as  our  introduction.  "  Tf,"  says  N.  P.  Willis,  "  you  can 
imagine  a  buried  Titan  lying  along  the  length  of  a  continent, 
with  one  arm  stretched  out  into  the  midst  of  the  sea,  the  spot 
to  which  I  would  transport  you,  reader  mine,  would  be,  as  it 
were,  in  the  palm  of  the  giant's  hand," 

One  of  "Whitticjr's  earliest  poetic  productions  is  also  addressed 
to  this  charming  spot : 


K 


N  All  ANT   LEGENDS. 


149 


Naliant,  tliy  IumcIi  is  bcaulit'ul !  — 

A  dim  liiiu  tlmm^'li  tin;  lossiiij,'  waves, 
Alonj,'  whose  VL'r},'e  the  spectre  gull 

lltT  tliin  (iiid  snowy  ]>luiuaf,'e  laves  — 
What  time  the  Suiiimei's  1,'reeniiess  lingers 

Within  thy  siniiieil  and  sheltered  n(ji»ks, 
And  the  yreeii  \iue  with  twining  lingers 

Creeps  u[)  and  down  thy  hanging  rocks  ! 
Around  —  the  Idue  and  level  main  — 

Above  —  a  sunshine  rich,  as  fell, 
Lright'ning  of  old,  with  golden  rain, 

The  isle  Ajudlo  loved  so  well !  — 
And  fur  olf,  dim  and  beautiful 
The  snow-white  sail  and  graceful  hull. 

Slow,  dii)ping  to  the  billow's  swell. 
15right  spot !  —  the  isles  of  Greece  may  share 
A  liowery  earth  —  a  gentle  air  ;  — 
The  orange-bough  may  blossom  well 
In  warm  Bernuida's  sunniest  dell  ;  — 
But  fairer  shores  and  brighter  waters, 
(jiuzed  on  by  purer,  lovelier  daughters, 

Beneath  the  light  of  kindlier  skies, 
The  Avamlerer  to  the  farthest  bounil 
Of  peopled  Earth  hath  never  found 

Than  thine  —  New  England's  Paradise  ! 


h 


Mrs.    Sigouruey   follows    in   tho    samo   strain    of    unstinted 
praise  :  — 

NAHANT. 

Rude  rock-bound  coast,  where  erst  the  Indian  roamed. 
The  iron  shoulders  of  thy  furrowed  cliffs, 
Made  black  with  smiting,  still  in  stubborn  force 
Resist  the  scourging  wave. 

Bright  summer  suns 
In  all  the  fervor  of  their  noontide  heat 
Obtain  no  power  to  harm  thee,  for  thou  wrapp'st 
Thy  watery  mantle  round  thee,  ever  fresh 
With  ocean's  coolness,  and  defy'st  their  rage. 


1 

■ 

■  ■ 

■j 

150 


ni:\v-i:n(;lani)  legends. 


The  Btonu-cloml  i>  lliy  ^luvy. 

'I'lu'ii,  tliuii  (leck'st 
Thysuir  willi  iiiajc'sty,  iiiul  U>  ils  liowii 
And  voice  ol' thumler,  unswercst  liuldly  hack, 
Anil  IVdui  tliy  waicli-towcis  luur.st  thu  blinding  Hpmy, 
W'liilc  every  dark  ami  linllow  cavern  sminds 
ItH  Irunipcl  lur  llic  Imllle. 

\'el   t  is  .sweet 
Amid  thy  lissurud  rocks  to  rnniinuU", 
Marking;  tliy  ;j;rott()s  witli  niosiiic  paved 
or  i;lilterin^  pebhles,  and  lliul  halm  to  breathe 
'Which  ;j;ives  the  elastic  nerves  a  freer  play, 
And  tints  the  lan^'uid  clieel'  '      a  lines  ol' health. 

The  sand-beuch  and  the  sea ! 

Who  can  divine 
Their  myslit;  interconr.se,  that  day  and  iiijj,iiL 
Surceaseth  not  /     On  comes  tin;  thnadering  snrge, 
Liftinj,'  its  mountain-head,  with  menace  stern, 
To  whelm  the  unresist inn^ ;  but  impelled 
In  all  the  plenitude  ol'  kin^dy  power 
To  change  its  purpo.se  of  authority, 
Ei'i'aking  its  wand  of  might,  doth  hurry  back  ; 
And  tlien,  repenting,  with  new  wrath  return. 
Yet  still  that  single,  silvery  line  abides, 
Lowly,  and  fearless,  and  immutable. 
God  gives  it  strength. 

So  may  he  deign  to  grant 
The  sand-line  oi  ouv  virtues  power  to  cope 
With  all  temptation.     When  .some  secret  .snare 
Doth  weave  its  meshes  mund  our  trembling  souls, 
That  in  their  frailty  turn  to  him  alone, 
So  may  he  give  us  strength. 

There  is  a  good  road  over  the  Long  Beach  ;  but  when  tlio  tide 
is  nearly  down,  a  liroad  esplanade  of  .sand  beckon.s  us  a.sido  from 
the  cmhankmeiit  overwhicdi  that  i.s  now  built.  Tloro  is  a  cour.so 
such  as  no  liomaii  charioteer  ever  drove  upon.  Hero  the  heavy 
farm-carts  that  are  gathering  seaweed  leave  scarcely  a  print  of 
their  broad-tired  wheels.     Stamp  upon  it  with  the  foot,  and  see 


n^ 


NAUANT  LKliKNDS. 


151 


how  hard  autl  liriii  it  is ;  or  smile  at  the  li;,'htiiiii^'  it  t'liiits  uiitlcr 
thu  iiuitiK't,  —  your  childliooil's  wuihUt.  Wi;  pass  over  half  an 
iicru  of  sand,  inoiddcd  in  the  impress  of  little  wavelets  that  have 
left  their  print  like  cunning,'  ehiselling  or  like  masses  of  sandy 
hair  in  crimp.  Thero  behind  a  iliimp  nf  meks  crouches  a  sports- 
man, who  is  patiently  waitin;,'  for  twili;^ht  to  come,  when  the 
black  ducks  and  coots  ily  over ;  thosi^  stooping  tii^ures  auKJii^' 
the  nx'ks  are  not  treasure-seekers,  but  clam-dii^'^'crs. 

Having  crosseil  the  Long  iJeach,  wt!  botakt;  ourscdvos  again  to 
tho  road  which  winds  urouiul  the  shon!  (jf  Jjiltle  Nahant  to  a 
second  beach,  half  a  mile  lotig.  Wo  again  leave  this  Ijchind,  to 
climb  the  rocky  ascent  of  the  greater  jn'omontory,  then  finding 
oiu'sidves  ill  the  long  street  of  the  village.  Nahant  is  t(Mn]>ting 
to  artist  or  antiquary,  but  c'sp(!cially  so  to  tlu;  man  of  roiincd 
literary  tastes,  who  knows  iio  greater  ciijoynn'iit  than  to  visit 
the  spots  consecrated  by  genius.  In  Jonathan  dohnson's  house 
Longfellow  partly  wrote  "  Hiawatha  ;"  and  here,  at  Nahant,  was 
also  the  birthplace  of  the  "Hells  of  Lynn,"  whicli  the  poi^t  heard, 

Borne  on  tlie  evening  wiiul  across  tjie  ciimsou  twilight. 

And  we  too  hoar  their  musical  vibrations,  softened  hy  the  dis- 
tance, lingering  lovingly  in  the  air,  and  we  can  see  as  in  our  own 
memories  the  pictures  to  which  his  matchless  verse  gives  life  : 

Tiic  fisherman  in  liisboat,  far  out  beyond  the  headland, 
Listens,  and  leisurely  rows  ashore,  0  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 

Over  tlic  shining  sands  the  wandering  cattle  homeward 
Follow  each  other  at  yom-  call,  O  ]5ells  of  Lynn  ! 

The  distant  lighthouse  heai.s  and  with  his  llaming  sij^mal 
Answers  you,  passing  the  watchword  on,  O  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 

And  down  the  darkening  coas,,  run  tlie  tumultuous  surges, 
And  claj)  their  hands,  and  sliout  to  you,  O  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 

Till  from  the  shuddering  sea,  with  your  wild  incantations. 
Ye  summon  u]>  the  spectral  moon,  O  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 

And  startlctl  at  the  sight,  like  the  weird  woman  of  Endor, 
Ye  cry  aloud,  and  then  are  still,  0  Bells  of  Lynn! 


r 


152 


Ni:\v-r.N(;i,AM)  i,K(;i:\iis. 


Tlic  "Laililcr  of  St.  Augustinf"  ainl  otlu-r  of  liin  lyrics  in 
which  the  iictiiiil  jncsi'iicu  of  tho  hciv  in  h'lt  by  thn  nvuhfr  wore 
also  writtt'ii  here  iiiiiKm-  its  iiilhicncc,  for  Loii<,'ft'li(i\v  is  alwuys 
niovcil  by  it  to  11  pilch  of  iii;^h-\vroii;,'ht  cniotioii  —  to  a  Icind  of 
s|i((oclih'ss  Hpccch  —  which  only  tlic  iiiiprcssililc  naturfs  knows. 
In  th«  "  Dt'dicatiun  "  to  liis  Scasithj  vorsos  ho  ^Ivum  us  this  key 
to  thia  t'.\(|iiisite  spiritual  .soii.siliility,  — 


I 


;  i 


Tliorcforc  T  li(i|)('  to  Join  your  s('nsi<lc  walk, 
Saddcncil,  and  mostly  silent,  with  fniolion  ; 

Not  iiiti'rrni>tinj,'  with  intrusive  talk 

The  yraiul,  majestic  Hymi>honiurt  of  ocutm. 

And  in  tho  opening,'  stanza  of  "  Tlus  Socrot  of  the  Soa"  ho  fraid<ly 
confesses  to  the  fascination  with  which  it  jmsse-sses  him  :  — 

Ah  !  what  pleasant  visions  haunt  nio 

As  I  ^'a/.e  niion  the  sea  I 
All  the  old  ronnnitic  legends, 

All  my  dreams,  come  buck  to  me, 

Soniowhat  farther  on  \vc  desctiud  into  an  enticing  nook,  shaded 
by  two  aged  and  gigantic  willow.s.  Here,  in  the  modest  cottage 
of  Mrs.  Hannah  Hood,  surrounded  by  old  Dutch  folio.s,  Mothty 
began  his  "  l)utch  Uepublic."  J>y  ascending  the  rise  of  ground 
beyond  the  ILdlow  we  may  see  the  roof  of  the  cottage  where 
Prescott,  who  died,  like  I'etrarch,  in  his  (diuir,  worked  at  *'  FM'rdi- 
nand  and  Isabella,"  the  "Conquest  of  :\Ie.\ico,"  and  "  Philip  II," 
On  the  point  beyond  us,  assisted  by  his  gifted  wife,  Agassiz 
produced  "  Prazil."  Willis,  Curtis,  Mrs,  Sigourne\',  and  an 
admiring  host  of  lesser  celebrities  who  liavc  felt  its  magnetic 
influence,  celebrate  Nahant  in  prose  or  verse.  The  residence 
of  such  eminent  representatives  of  American  literature  could 
hardly  fail  to  impress  itself  upon  the  social  character  of  a  place ; 
but  it  has  also  made  this  little  peninsula  one  of  the  best, remem- 
bered spots  of  American  ground  to  scholars  of  the  Old  World 
who  have  visited  it.     And  the  privilege  of  traversing  her  rocky 


:" 


.t 


K 
^ 


\    \ 


N  AHA  NT    LKiiKNDS. 


ioli 


I 


*f 


4 

I 
I 


shores,  with  Lnnj,'folli i\v  or  Agassiz  for  a  guiilc,  was  indeed  some- 
thing to  he  rcnicniliircil. 

Tlie  Hollow  Het-nirt  tiiu  |iroiu!r  stiuidpoint  i'or  a  Itrici'  gliinco 
at  the  history  of  Muliiiut,  down  to  tlm  tinm  wlicii  it  ht'cunio 
the  retreat  of  eiilturc,  rctinenient,  and  wciiitli.  Naliant  (the 
twins)  is  a  mtisieal  Indian  name  tiint  trips  liglitly  from  tlie 
tougne.  On  tlie  map  it  loolts  like  the  wyvern  of  lieraldry,  hang- 
ing to  the  coast  l>y  its  tail.  It  was  sold  ]»y  Pocpianiim,  a  saga- 
more, in  KJ.IO,  to  the  Lynn  settlers,  who  used  it  in  common  as  a 
pasture.  Pu'ing  to  all  intents  an  islaml,  or  rather  two  ishmds,  at 
liigh  tide,  it  wati  named  thts  FuUerton  Isles,  in  1G14,  hy  Captain 
Smith.  It  had  been  granted  in  1G22  to  Cai)tain  iJobert  (Jorges  ; 
hut  his  title  seems  to  have  lapsed,  and  not  to  have  been  suc- 
cessfully revived.  Tniltfr  the  rule  of  Aiulros,  his  favorite,  Uan- 
dolph,  tried  to  steal  it.  The  price  originally  paid  for  Nahant 
was  a  suit  of  clothes ;  it  lias  now  a  tax-roll  of  six  and  a  half 
millions.  In  the  earlier  accounts  given  of  them,  the  two  pen- 
insulas appctar  to  have  been  well  wooded  ;  l)ut,  in  common  with 
all  the  coast  islands,  the  natural  forest  long  ago  disappeared,  and 
Nahant  remained  almost  treeless,  until  Thomas  II.  Perkins,  a 
wealthy  Boston  merchant,  planted  several  thousand  shail(!-trees. 
His  efforts  to  make  Nahant  a  desirable  summer  residence  were 
effectively  seconded  by  Frederick  Tudor,  the  ice-king,  by  Cor- 
lU'liiis  C'ofdidge,  and  other  men  of  wealth  and  taste.  Its  name 
and  fame  began  to  resound  abroad.  A  hotel  was  built  in  ISIU, 
and  a  steamboat  began  to  ply  in  the  sunnner  months  Ix'tween 
Boston  and  the  peninsulas.  In  1853  Nahant  threw  off  her 
alkigiance  to  Lynn,  and  became  a  separate  tOM'ii.  Her  earlier 
freciuenters  were,  with  few  exceptions,  wealthy  Boston  or  Salem 
families,  and  they  continue  to  possess  her  choicest  territories. 

Since  the  great  hotel  was  destroyed  by  fire  in  18G1,  there  is 
only  the  modest  hostelry  of  Mr.  Whitney  for  the  reception  of 
casual  guests.  This  was  one  of  five  houses  the  i)eninsula  con- 
tained seventy  odd  years  ago,  and  was  the  former  homestead  of 
the  Breed  family,  who,  with  the  Hood  and  Johnson  families, 
were  sole  lords  of  the  isles.     Though  there  has  been  an  "  inva- 


1:4 


m:\\'-i;n(;i,ani»  lkcknus. 


I 


Hut 


.siiiii,"  tlicri'  iii'vcr  has  bot'ii  11  *'con(|iU'st."     Tin'   N'almiiU'.sn  wlm 
art(  "  native  liciv,  and  to  the  niaiiinr  horn,"  rlin^'  to  wlial  is  Id't 
of  their  fiiicienl    |ialiininiiy    with   uiiyifMini,'  ^'rasp.       Wuniler 
wht'iv  thi'v  may,  tlicy  always  eoiiic  l)ai;k   luro  to  tlie.     One  of 
theni,  who  hail  ivl'iiscd  teiiiiitiiix  oilers  fur  his  laml,  saitl  to  uje, 
"  Ihic  I  was  li(prii,  hen^  is  my  hdiiie,  and  here  I  mean  to  uhide." 
'I'lio    admiiahly    kopt  roads   leail   whert!    the    most    cnga^^iiij^ 
Hoa-vicws  are  to  he  had.     Von  jcini  over  a  railing  ami  look  down 
(ii^^hty  feel  t(j  the  hottom  of  11  eove,  where  tile  sea  ripples  with- 
out Itrcaking,   and    thu  dean,  Hmootli  p(!l)hles    chase    liaek    tlie 
relhient  wavo  witii  noisy  chatter.     Tho  tiiwny  rocks  wenr  contn 
of  ^ras.s-|,'reen  velvet;  the  porfnnie  of  sweet-fern  and  of  ej^lantino 
is  in  the  air.     Tho  clitfs  of  tho  eaatern  headland  are  very  lino. 
It  takes  one's  lireath  away  to  witness  the  rush  and  roar  of  tho 
eternal  snr^'es  anmnj,'  tli"ir  iron  ril)s  ;  yet  the  effect  seems  littlo 
more  than  wonld  he  jirodiiced  hy  a  hnngry  lion  liekin;,'  the  bars 
of  his  ea|i,'e.      In  a  few  instances,  such  aa  Castle    Kmk  and  tho 
J)evil's  I'ulpil  notably  present,  the  rocks  arise  in  re;,'ular  castel- 
lated nia.s.ses ;  hnt  in  general  they  are  as  nnicli  tlir^  expression  of 
chaos  of  form  as  we  might  expect  to  scm'  in  tiie  broken  anhes 
and  colonnades  of  the  earth's  foundations.     Jleing  pilciied  about 
in  fantastic  yet  awful  confusion,  they  present  curious  ac<idental 
formations,   or  arc  .split  from  sunnnit    to    foundation-stone    in 
chasms  deep  and  gloomy,  ■where  th(!  .seething  waters  hiss  and 
boil,  nnich  as  they  might  have;  done;  when  these  colossal  masses 
were  lirst   cooling.     Here  and  there  on  the!  shores  the  sea  has 
neatly  hollowed  out  the  natural  curiosities  locally  known  as  the 
Natural  Jhidge,  Swallows'  Cave,  Irene's  ( Jnjtto,  and  tho  Spouting 
Horn  ;  and  in  storms  the  shore  is  as  full  of  noises  as  Prospero's 

Island  — 

A  voice  out  of  the  silence  of  the  ilcep, 

A  sound  mysteriously  nndliplied, 
As  of  a  cataract  from  the  mountain's  side. 

Or  roar  of  winds  upon  the  wooded  steep. 

Tho  sea-view  from  the  jjortico  of  tho  chapel,  wliich  is  situated 
on  the  highest  point  of  the  headland,  is  certainly  one  of  the 


NAll.VNT    Umi'ND.S. 


m 


nii'UHt  oil  till'  wlmlc  (•(jii.Ht,  t'lnhnii'iiijf,  as  it  dooH,  nmiiy  iiiilrs  ,.1' 
tlif  maiiiliiinl,  I'ldia    Lyiiu  iih  iiii'  an  tlic  *>.\tri'iiii*  puiiit  of  Cii|ii> 

Ami;    of   tilt'  Solltll    Sliniv    I'lnlll    S(ill|;itc    tu    lli'stnli     I,i;,'llt, U 

ttlciiilcr,  .sliiijicly,  ami  iiiiiiiUii  like  tnwi  r  hcI  nn  a  lialt'-.>iiiliiii*  r^^i'il 
1('(|;^M>  lit  tlif  i-iitraii('(t  to  Hii.Htoii  ll.irl)or.  On  a  dcai  day  tliu 
dii.-iky  K>'iiy  pillar  nf  Minot'rt  Li;;lit,  aii<l  J)y  iii^'ht  its  riultly  Hash, 
on  till'  sniilli  roast,  aro  visilili-.  Oih'  of  tlii'so  towt-rs —  indialily 
the  lirst  -  insjiiriMl  Longfellow's  poi'in,  "  Tlu!  Li;^lillious(.'," 
bt'i^'inning  — 

The  rocky  Iitlj^'c  runs  fur  iiitd  tjn'  si-a, 
Ancj  III!  its  uiilci'  pniiit,  >i)iiii'  luiU's  away, 

Till'  lii;,'lillioii,-<i'  lilts  its  iiiassivn  niusoiiry,  — 
A  pillar  of  lin;  )>v  iii^'lit,  of  doiul  l»y  ihiy. 

And  cndin;,'  — 

"Sail  on  !"  it  says,  "sail  cm,  vc  stalely  ships  ! 

Ami  with  your  lloatin^,'  liriil;,'e  the  ocean  span  : 
I5(,'  niine  to  ;.'iiaiil  this  li^rjit  fioiii  all  eclipse, 

lie  youis  to  hrin;^;  man  nearer  unto  man  ! " 

Lon<,'i'ello\v'3  summer  resiih^nee  was  upon  the  soiilhern  whore, 
which  is  loss  precipitous,  Imt  more  sheltered  from  the  hleak 
winds,  tluvu  the  northern  shores  are.  "  It  is  a  honse  of  uinplo  si/e, 
with  wide  vi'iainlas,  and  is  surrounde(l  with  such  shnihhery  as 
the  unsparing'  winds  that  sweep  th(i  peninsula  alluw,"  When, 
lifter  the  appearance  of  "  Nooks  and  Corners  of  the  New  Klijf- 
land  Coast,"  the  writer  called  upon  him,  the  puet  said,  "  Ah  !  hut 
why  did  you  leave  Nahant  out  in  the  ooKU"  And  he  urged 
him  to  repair  the  omission  without  delay. 

Preseott  also  lived  on  the  southern  shore,  on  a  rocky  point  not 
far  from  the  Swallows'  Cave,  named  by  him  "Fitful  Head." 
Agassi/.'  cottiiK*',  on  the  contrary,  is  on  the  north  shore.  It  is  a 
modest,  though  not  unpicturesipie  building,  all  upon  the  ground, 
and  was  probably  better  suited  to  tlm  groat  seientist's  simple 
tastes  than  were  the  handsom<^  villas  of  his  eminent  literary  neigh- 
bors. Possibly  it  may  have  reminded  him  in  some  sih;nt  way 
of  his  fatherland.- -"the  beautiful   Pays  du  Vaiid."     It  is  to 


'(   I 


V    ■ 


15G 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


Agasriiz  dead  that  this  touching  apustruphc  is  adih'ossed  hy  his 
fi'ioiid  LungfuUow,  wlio  is  S(j  rarely  a  (questioner  of  fate,  — 

I  stiuul  ngiiin  on  the  I'aniiUar  shore, 

And  hear  the  waves  of  tlie  dislrju'ted  sea 

I'iteousiy  (•ailing  and  lamenting  thee, 

And  waiting  restless  at  thy  cottage  door. 
Till!  roi'ks,  the  sea-weed  on  the  ocean  floor, 

The  willows  in  the  meadow,  and  the  free 

Wild  winds  of  the  Athmtic  widcome  me  ; 

Then  why  ahouldst  thou  1)e  liead,  and  conic  no  more  i 
Ah,  why  shouldst  thou  he  di;ad  when  common  men 

Are  busy  with  their  trivial  affairs. 

Having  and  holding  I     Why,  when  thou  hadst  read 
Nature's  mysterious  maiuiscript,  and  then 

Wast  ready  to  reveal  the  truth  it  hears. 

Why  art  thou  silent  >,     V.liy  shouldst  thou  he  dead  / 


THE   SEA-SERPENT. 

Jlayliap  jou  all  liavo  heard  to  tell 

Of  the  woiulerful  sea-snake.  — Oi.n  Ballad. 

rpiIEKE  is  one  topic  with  which  the  annals  of  Xahant  are 
-J-  inseparably  associated  that  Ave  feel  a  natural  diffiilence  in 
approaching,  yet  cannot  in  conscience  ignore,  and  that  is  the 
sea-serpent.  Words  are  inadequate  to  ('escribe  the  wide-spread 
consternation  -which  the  apparition  of  such  a  monster  created 
among  tl.  :  hardy  population  of  ()ur  Xew  Englaiul  seaboard  ;  for 
he  was  soon  perceived  to  [tossess  none  of  the  attributes  of  a 
sportive  and  harmless  iish,  but  to  belong  strictly  to  the  reptile 
tribe  !  And  Avliat  a  reptile  !  The  most  exaggerated  reports  of 
his  length  prevailed  throughout  all  the  fishing  towns  of  Cape 
Ann,  and  up  and  doM-n  the  length  of  the  coast.  One  skipper 
swon  that  ho  was  as  long  as  the  mainmast  of  a  seventy-four; 
another  would  eat  him  if  the  steeple  of  Gloucester'  nieetingdiouse 


THE    SKA-.SEKl'ENT. 


ir.7 


could  hold  a  candle  to  liiiu  I'or  leiiytli  ;  still  another  declarod 
iipou  his  solemn  "  alhdavy  "  that,  having  sighted  the  shaggy  head 
of  the  snake  early  in  the  morning,  witli  a  stilt'  six-knot  hreeze, 
and  everything  full,  he  had  been  lialf  a  glass  in  overhauling 
liis  snakeship's  tail,  as  he  lay  motionless  along  the  water. 

For  a  time  nothing  else  was  talked  of  but  the  wonderful  sea- 
snake,  which  was  repeatedly  seen  in  Gloucester  Bay  in  August, 
1817,  and  occasionally  also  in  the  waters  of  Xahant  Bay,  by 
hundreds  of  curious  spectators,  who  ran  to  the  beaches  or 
pushed  olF  in  boats  at  the  first  news  of  his  approach.     There 


1 


r-^r 


EGG   KOCK   AND   THE   SEA-SERPENT. 


wa-  not  a  fishwife  along  thirty  miles  of  coast  who  did  not 
shako  in  her  shoes  when  he  was  reported  i!i  the  offng.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  his  snakeship  was  not  molested  by  any 
alert  customs'  officer,  but  "entered"  and  "cleared"  at  each 
port  at  his  owji  good  will  and  pleasure.  But  as  time  wore  on, 
and  the  serpent's  pacific,  even  pusillanimous,  disposition  became 
evident,  courage  revived  ;  and  thougli  the  fish  was  a  strange  one, 
the  fishermen  determined,  with  characteristic  boldness,  on  his 

capture. 

Stimidated,  also,  by  the  large  reward  offered  for  the  serpent, 
alive  or  dead,  vessels  Avere  fitted  out,  manned  by  expert  whales- 


i'  { 


I!  ! 

V 


158 


NKW-KXCLAN'I)    LF.CKN'DS. 


iiii'ii,  wliicli  cruised  in  tln'  bay.  The  ivveime  vessel  tlien  on  the 
station  was  ordered  to  keep  a  vigilant  look-out,  and  .she  kept  lier 
giiii.s  double-shotted  i'or  action.  Nets  Avere  also  spread  in  his 
snakeship's  accustomed  haunts,  and  one  adventurous  I'ellow,  who 
had  approached  so  near  as  to  see  the  white  of  his  glittering  eye, 
emptied  tin;  contents  of  a  dnckhig  gun  into  the  inon,ster's  head. 
But  he  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life  ;  and  having  easily  eluded 
his  pursuers,  derisively  shook  the  spray  of  ^'ahant  Bay  from 
his  tail  ere  he  disappeared  in  the  tlepths  of  the  ocean.  Since 
this  time  the  gigantic  ophidian  has  from  time  to  time  revisited 
^'ahant,  and  strange  tidings  have  lately  come  of  him  from  other 
climes.  But  it  is  clear  that  his  stutl'ed  skin  was  n(!ver  destined 
to  adorn  the  walls  of  a  museum,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  ho  will 
ever  know  other  jiickle  than  his  native  brine. 

The  tradition  associating  the  sea-sevpMit  with  Nahant  is  of 
very  early  date.  John  dosselyn,  (lent.,  who  was  here  in  1G38, 
is  the  lirst  to  mention  this  monster,  lie  says  that  one  was 
seen  "  ([Uoileil  up  on  a  rock  at  Cape  Ann  "  by  a  passing  boat, 
and  that  when  an  Englishman  would  liave  lire"  it  iiim,  an 
Indian  hastily  prevented  his  doing  so,  saying  that  it  would 
bring  tliem  ill  luck. 

It  is  our  privilege  to  rescue  this  poetic  waif  dedicated  by  the 
poet  Brainard  to  the  wandering  nmnster  of  the  deep  :  — 


j 
]        \ 

if      ' 

i 


i  ■  ^ 


SONNET  TO  THE   SEA-SERPENT. 

J.    G.     IJKAIXAllI). 

Hugest  tliat  swims  tliu  ocean  stream. 

Welter  upon  the  w.aters,  mighty  one. 

And  stretch  thee  in  the  ocean's  trough  of  brine  ; 

Turn  thy  wet  scides  up  to  the  wind  and  sun, 

And  toss  the  billow  from  thy  flashing  tin  ; 

Heave  thy  deep  lireathings  to  the  ocean's  din. 

And  b(;und  ujion  its  ridges  in  thy  pride  ; 

Or  dive  down  to  its  lowest  depths,  and  in 


. 


TIJE    I'LoritK    (IF   SorVKNANCK. 


ir.o 


The  caverns  when;  its  unkiii»\vii  ministers  liidc, 

Measiuv  thy  h'Uglh  liencatli  the  (iu!l'  Stieaiii  lide 

Or  lest  thee  oil  the  uavel  (if  that  sea 

Where,  lliiatiug  <iii  the  .Maelsttuia,  abide 

The  krakeus  sheltering  niuU'r  Norway's  K'e, — 

liut  go  not  to  Nuhunt,  lest  men  should  swear 

Yon  are  a  groat  deal  higger  than  you  are. 


THE  FLOURE   OF  SOUYENANCE. 


i 


TXT^l"]  have  already  poiiittMl  mit  to  the  reader  the  liugc;  huinp- 
VV  liaidced  l)o\vlder  rising  I'rom  tlie  sea  called  Kgg  liuck. 
The  story  we  are  about  to  relate  is  intimately  associated  witli 
that  picturesque  ol;)ject.  Loug  ago,  wlieu  ^'aliaiifc  tirst  began 
to  claim  attention  as  a  summer 
I'esort,  two  young  [)eople  met  here 
for  the  first  time.  The  acquaint- 
ance soon  ripened  into  friendship, 
and  I'roni  friendshij)  into  love. 
The  pair  were  insoparalde.  He 
v\-as  devoted  to  infatuation,  she 
too  liapjiy  to  remember  that  there 
was  any  world  outside  of  that  iu 
which  tliey  then  lived.  The  lover 
was  in  every  way  worthy  of  the 
lady,  and  she  of  him  ;  and  only 
one   thing    stood  iu    llu^    Avay   of 

ulieir  happiness.  That  one  obstacle  lay  iu  the  fact  that  the 
young  man  was  an  Italian  by  ad.oi)tion,  altliough  an  American 
by  birth;  and  Alice,  the  young  girl  wliose  love  he  had  Avon, 
when  pressed  by  him  to  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage,  had 
replied  :  "  My  dear  friend,  hrst  go  and  obtain  the  sanction  of 
your  parents,  and  then  it  shall  all  be  as  you  wish." 


FOKGET-MK-NOTS. 


160 


N i:\V-E.\(.iLANi)  lel;en]>s. 


■  t 


3 


M 


V 


;  ■  >i 


^h 


I    I 


Possessed  witli  tliis  purpose,  wliicli  liad  now  becoiuo  tlio  solo 
motive  of  his  life,  the  yoiiiig  iniin  secured  a  passajfc  in  a  vessel 
■\vliii;li  was  to  sail  iu  two  days  for  Legiiorii.  He  then  returneil 
to  Nahant  in  ordta-  to  spend  the  few  hours  reiuaininy  to  him  in 
the  society  of  his  betrothed. 

It  was  the  last  evening,  and  the  young  couple  were  wandering 
over  the  l)row  of  the  heailland  where  they  had  so  often  walked 
before,  and  whence  the  long  leagues  of  glittering  sea  had  always 
seemed  so  beautiful,  and  the  l)reeze  and  the  billows  so  invigor- 
ating and  elevating  to  tliem.  Both  were  silent.  Unknown  to 
each  other,  they  were  musing  upon  the  (piestiou  that  has  dis- 
tracted so  many  minds,  — the  serpent  in  their  Eden,  —  Since  we 
are  so  happy,  wliy  should  we  be  separated  !  But  the  sullen 
dash  of  tlie  waves  at  their  feet  Avas  their  only  response.  They 
clung  to  eacli  otlier  and  dreamed  on. 

WJiile  standing  thus  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  a  strange  fancy 
came  into  the  lover's  head.  Why  it  is  that  in  moments  of 
su[)reme  trouble  the  merest  trilles  should  force  tliemselves 
uppermost  in  our  minds,  we  do  not  pretend  to  explain,  Tlui 
young  man  sutldenly  recollected  one  of  the  local  traditions,  run- 
ning to  the  etfect  that  the  lady  wlio  shoukl  receive  from  her 
lover's  hand  tlie  Floure  of  Souveuance,  or  Forget-me-not,  grow- 
ing oidy  in  one  lonely  spot  on  the  little  island  before  them, 
would  remain  forever  constant. 

"  Let  me  give  y(ju  one  more  proof  of  my  love,  dear  Alice, 
before  we  part,  and  let  it  be  the  llower  plucked  from  the  summit 
of  yonder  rock  that  lies  there  before  us,"  he  gayly  said,  feeling 
that  she  would  divine  his  puri)ose. 

'■  I  re([uire  no  new  proof  of  your  affection, "  she  replied  ;  "  Init 
do  as  you  will." 

Unobserved  by  the  lovers,  tlK  sea  was  steadily  rising,  and 
upon  the  distant  coast  the  rote  was  growing  every  moment 
more  ominously  distinct.  Tlie  young  man  was  much  too  in- 
tent, liowever,  upon  his  ol)ject  to  notice  these  warning  signs  ; 
in  his  present  frame  of  mind  he  would  gladly  have  braved 
even  greater  dangers  in  order  to  gratify  his  mistress.     He  ran 


THE   FLOUKE   OK   SOUVENANCE. 


101 


li,i;hlly  ilowii  tin;  loi.'ks  to  wliero  his  bout  wii.s  auchorod,  iiiul  in 
ii  moiiiciit  iiiiiiv,  luiL'dlt.'s.s  of  the  wiirniiii;  vdicis  ol'  a  slningor, 
had  soalwl  hiiiihoU'  at  tlu',  hehu,  and  wa.s  muuiiling  tho  iucumiiig 
waves  on  his  way  tu  Kj^;,'  Kock. 

'•  Wait  tor  till',  next  ti(h',"  sshoutod  the  wanuiig  voice,  "  or  I 
will  not  answer  for  your  safety  I" 

"The  next  tide,"  niunuured  the  yomig  man,  "  will  hear  me 
far  from  her;  it  is  now  or  luiver,"  waving  his  hand  to  Alice 
on  the  clilf.  Aliec;  watehe(l  hini  in  a  kind  of  stupor;  she  had 
heard  tho  voice.  "  My  (iod  ! "  sho  murmured  with  white  lips, 
"what  have  1  donei" 

'["he  adventurous  young  man,  however,  reached  the  ro(^k  in 
safety,  climbed  its  rugged  side,  and  stood  at  length  on  its  sum- 
nut.  He  was  soon  .seen  to  come  down  to  the  shore  again,  to 
loosen  his  .sail,  unmoor,  anil  stand  bolilly  for  Nahant.  All  tliis 
was  seen  from  the  clilf.  Alicti  had  not  stirred  from  tho  spot 
where  he  had  left  her. 

lint  from  moment  to  moment  tho  rising  wind  and  tide,  swell- 
ing in  angry  chorus,  rendered  the  passag(s  more  and  morii  peril- 
ous. In  vain  tho  intrepid  voyager  tried  to  hold  Ins  course  ; 
the  little  boat  .seemed  to  lie  at  their  mercy.  Now  it  sank 
down  out  of  sight,  ami  now  it  struggled  up  again  to  the  summit 
of  a  billo  rolling  heavily  in  and  .shaking  th(!  foam  from  its 
maui'.  It  soon  became  unmanageable,  drifting  helples.sly  toward 
tho  rocks.  The  s(!as  drenched  it,  tho  darkness  closed  around  it ; 
but  as  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  tho  lookers-on  could  see  tins 
young  man  still  grasping  the  helm  as  if  buoyed  up  by  the  hope 
of  steering  to  some  opening  among  tho  rocks  Avliere  ]u\  might 
safely  land.  At  one  momimt  it  seemed  as  if  ho  would  succeed  ; 
but  in  another  tho  boat  was  swallowed  up  by  a  breaker  that 
crushed  it  like  an  egg-shell  against  the  rocks,  at  the  feet  of 
the  si)cctators.  Tho  next  day  the  body  was  recovered  ;  in  its 
clenched  and  stiifonod  baud  was  the  fatal  Forget-me-not. 


11 


p  nil  i  I 
t  ^ 
I 

r 


; 


iii         r 


162 


NEVV-ENGLANL)   LEGENDS. 


s 


SWAMPSCOTT     BEACH. 

WAMPSCOTT  i.s  a  .succossiuii  of  lianl  .saud-boaclios  and 
rocky,  picliinvs(iii('  hijadlaiuls,  tVirmiii^' M'itli  Nuliant,  Naliaiil 
Bay.  It  was  ruriiici'ly,  as  \vu  iviuiiiuhor,  a  part  of  Lyiiii ;  and  so 
clust'ly  avi)  tlicy  united  to-day,  that  it  wotilil  ro(|uiii!  a  siirvcsyor  to 
tell  wlicro  tli(!  OHO  ends  of  tlif,  otliia-  l)o;j,ius.  In  niakini,'  a  lour  of 
tlic  shores  ono  crosses  successively  King's  Ijcacli,  Whale  J5each, 
and  IMiillips  jjeach,  — all  of  whitdiare  the  summer  playground  of 
the  niuUitudes  who  iutiiat  season  come  hero  for  health  or  recrea- 
tion, or  for  both.  The  high  and  glittering  shore  swe(![)s  graceiully 
around  toward  the  east,  far  out  into  the  ocean,  until  it  is  frittered 
away  in  a  cluster  of  foam-crested  ledges  that  lie  in  treacherous 
ambuscade  at  its  extreme  point.  That  curving  shore  is  rhillips 
Point,  and  the  reef  is  Dri'ad  Ledge.  There  is  a  handsonus  villa 
or  cottage  for  every  eU^vated  site  along  the  two  mih's  of  shore. 

The  extremity  of  Phillips  Point  is  a  wicked-looking  shore,  and 
Dread  Ledge  is  the  synonymo  for  danger  to  the  mariner.  The 
surrounding  waters  are  thickly  sown  with  half-submerged  rocks, 
■which  in  the  delirium  of  a  gale  seem  rooted  in  hell  itself.  Here, 
in  January,  1857,  the  ill-fatt;d  'fcdcsco  was  swalloM'ed  up,  with 
every  soul  on  board  ;  and  such  was  the  mastery  of  the  tempest 
over  things  terrestrial,  that  the  disaster  was  not  known  in  the 
neighboring  village  until  the  following  day.  Fn  that  memorable 
gale  the  sea  inundated  the  marshes,  swept  unchecked  over  its 
ordinary  barriers,  and  heaped  a  rampart  t)f  frozen  surf  upon  the 
beaches,  in  Avhich  the  broken  masts  of  Avrecks  were  left  sticking. 
Streets  and  roads  were  so  blocked  up  by  immense  snowdrifts, 
that  all  travel  was  suspended  for  several  days.  The  ponderous 
anchors  of  the  Tedesco  were  found  lying,  wdiere  the  seas  had 
thrown  them,  upon  the  top  of  a  rock  ;  and  they  were  all  that 


I 


1 


I 


I 


HWAMI'SCOTT    nKACH. 


163 


f 


I 


was  left  to  toll  the  talc,  for  not  a  vostign  n|'  tlic  hull  iciiKiiiicil. 
Auolhor  vessol  was  aftenvanl  wrrckcd  liurc  ;  hut,  hciug  (h-ivcii 
nearer  the  land,  her  crew,  one  by  unc,  walked  to  the  shore  over 
the  l)()Wsprit. 

Swani|iseott  was,  and  sldl  is,  a  typical  Xew-Kngland  lisliin,!,'- 
villa,L,'e  ;  that  is  its  true  estate.  'i"he  summer  visitors  arc  mere 
liinls  of  iiassa;;-e  ;  Ijut  the  men  who  are  native  liere  pursue  tlieir 
hazardous  calliug  the  whulc  year  through.  Nothing  can  he 
more  curious  than  to  .see  the  old  life  of  a  place  thus  preserveil  in 
the  midst  of  the  wealth  and  fashion  that  have  grown  up  around 
it  and  oversliadowed  it.  iJut  in  this  fact  we  think  lies  one 
great  charm  of  such  a  jilace. 

There  is  no  ililUculty  wliatever  in  placing  the  scene  of  Haw- 
thorne's "Village  Tucle"  here.  That  sketcli  is  in  truth  only  a 
series  of  pictures  of  the  .surroundings  and  of  the  plain  lislierfolk, 
taken  from  life,  to  which,  from  the  snug  clnmni'y-corner  of  a 
fisherman's  luunble  cottage,  the  garrulous  olil  '*  Tni'le"  adds  his 
own  storti  of  gossip  ami  of  seadore.      Hear  liim  :  — 


"Toss  on  an  armful  of  tliose  dry  o:ik-(Iiips,  —  tlic  last  relics  of  tlie 
'  Mermaid's'  knee-timliers,  the  liones  of  your  namesake,  Susan.  Higher 
yet,  and  clearer,  he  tlie  blaze,  till  our  cottage  windows  glow  llie  rud- 
diest in  the  village,  and  the  liglil  of  our  hiiu^elinl  1  iniilli  liasli  far 
across  the  bay  to  Naliaiit. 

"  Xow,  Su.san,  for  a  sober  picturi'  of  our  village  I  It  was  a  small 
collection  of  dwelliii;.;s  that  scenu'd  to  have  1)eeu  casl  u[i  by  the  .sea, 
with  the  rock-weed  and  marine  plants  that  it  vomits  after  a  storm,  or 
to  have  come  ashore  among  tlie  iiijie-slaws  and  other  lundier  which 
had  been  washed  from  the  deck  of  an  Kastern  schooner.  There  was 
just  space  fertile  narrow  ;ind  s.indy  street  between  the  beach  in  front 
and  a  precipitous  hill  that  lilte(l  its  rocky  forehead  in  the  rear, atnong 
a  waste  of  junii)er-bushes  and  the  wild  growth  of  a  broken  pasture. 
The  village  was  ]M(tures(|U(!  in  the  variety  of  its  edifices,  though  all 
were  rude,  llo'e  stood  a  litth;  old  hovel,  Ijuilt  perhaps  of  driftwood  ; 
there  a  row  of  boat-houses  ;  and  beyond  them  a  two-story  dwelling  of 
dark  and  weatherbeaten  aspect, — the  whole  intermi.xed  with  one  or 
two  snug  cottages  painted  white,  a  sufticiency  of  pigsties,  and  a  shoe- 
maker's shop." 


16-4 


N  KVV-ENGL  AN  I )   LEUK.VDS. 


J!y  tli(!  siiiiii)  fiiinily  n,'st'iiil)liiuco  is  JMiilip.s  Moiicli  rocognizod 
as  the  scL'Uo  (if  those  waywiirtl  rovoiioa,  '*  Footprints  on  thu  Slu- 
.shore,"'  in  whicli  this  aiitlior  thinks  uh)ii(l,  rather  than  talks, 
liclrayin^'  the  old  truant  inipulso  which  occasionally  mastered 
him  to  <^vt  away  from  that  world  in  which  it  is  tnio  ho  lived 
and  moved,  hut  couhl  hanlly  be  said  to  liave  had  his  being. 
We  lure  find  him  in  (jne  of  his  own  creation. 


i 


•I 


I 


I 


i 


putt  f  ourtl). 


SALEM    LEGENDS. 


I.'l 


.1 1 


t 

1 


lil^!  i 


I 


l>^-^i^^*^,,,^  ^ , 


SALKM     LI-XIENDS. 


I 


IX  Xow  Eiifiland  no  town  except  Plymouth  tiikos  pronodonoo 
of  Siilciii  ill  tlm  onlcr  of  wuttltunont,  —  a  fact  of  Avliicli  licr 
citizHiis  art)  iiaturally  a.s  prouil  as  an  old  faiuily  is  of  its  pcdi^troo 
goiiiy  hack  to  tho  Conquest,  or  th(!  Creation.  And  really,  in 
the  creation  of  the  J'liritau  Coinnionwoalth,  one  represents  tho 
First  Day,  and  the  other  the  Second. 

The  political  and  commercial  fortunes  of  Salem  have  btMin 
sinijularly  alike.  TiOf^er  Conant.  the  founder,  and  li>ader  of  a 
forlorn  hope,  was  (;clipsed  hy  Kndicott,  who  was  in  turn  over- 
shadowed by  Winthrop,  —  a  man  quick  to  .see  that  no  place  mms 
lar^e  enough  to  contain  three  <,'overnors,  two  of  them  deposed, 
one  in  authority,  and  all  ambitious  to  lead  the  Puritan  van,i,aiard 
in  the  <freat  crusade  of  the  century.  The  site  was  nut  approve(l. 
'  He  tlierefove  sought  out  a  new  one,  to  which  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment was  presently  removed,  leaving  Salem,  by  the  course  of 
these  events,  a  modest  refle(!tion  of  the  Puritan  capital,  and 
nothing  more.  The  halls  of  the  Essex  Institute  contain  many 
interesting  relics  of  the  time  when  Salem  played  an  imi)ortant 
part  in  Colonial  history. 

In  respect  to  its  commercial  importance,  which  at  one  time, 
was  very  great,  —  ships  in  the  Hooghly  and  the  Yang-tse,  ships 
at  Ceylon  and  Madagascar,  ships  on  tho  Gold  Coast,  in  Polynesia 
and  Vancouver ;  you  can  hardly  put  a  thought  on  the  wide  seas 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


V 


// 


/ 


s? 


Qx. 


/ 


m 


■  >     4 


% 


^-'     €^< 


W- 


W.r 


i< 


C/jL 


(/. 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


IIIM    11 2.5 


2.0 


.8 


lA  mil  1.6 


"/a 


<? 


/} 


o 


ej 


<?. 


e}. 


'3 


VI 


% 


A 


O 


7 


//a 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


V 


^9> 


.V 


■^ 


^^1. 


•S^^ 


•ft 


&< 


y>- 


w. 


\ 


168 


new-englanj)  legends. 


wliere  there  were  not  ships  flying  like  a  swarm  of  industrious 
bees  to  every  far  sea  and  clime,  —  an  importance  so  great,  in- 
(k'cd,  that  its  merchants  were  called  King  this  and  King  that, 
wliilo  by  reason  of  the  frequent  intercourse  had  with  th(jse 
"far  countrees,"  its  society  took  a  tone  and  color  almost  Ori- 
ental ;  yet,  its  greater  rival  again  overshadowing  it,  most  singu- 
larly converted  Salem  from  a  seaport  of  the  iirst  rank  into  a 
modestly  flourishing  place  of  manufactures.  That  side  of  the 
city  representing  its  old  eminence  is  paralyzed  ;  while  the  other 
half,  although  exhibiting  a  still  vigorous  life,  lias  no  such  dis- 
tinctive traits  as  Avhen  Halem  was  the  recognized  mart  of  tiie 
Indies.  In  the  cabinets  of  the  Peabody  Museum  the  interested 
visitor  sees  on  all  sides  a  thousand  evidences  of  her  ancient  com- 
mercial renown,  brought  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe  in 
her  own  ships,  and  the  sole  proofs  to-day  that  such  renown 
ever  existed. 

Quite  recently  an  embassy  from  tlic  Queen  of  Madagascar 
arrived  in  the  United  States.  In  the  course  of  their  tour  they 
visited  Boston,  not  for  the  sake  of  anything  that  city  could 
offer  as  a  temp'tation  to  African  cuvios'iy,  but  because  it  lay 
in  the  route  to  Siilem.  They  were  particularly  anxious  to  see 
Salem,  wlicli  is  still  supposed  by  many  of  the  natives  of  Mada- 
gascar to  be  the  only  port  of  much  importance  in  America. 

Story,  the  sculptor-poet,  who,  like  Hawthorne,  is  Salein-born, 
commemorates  these  well-remembered  scenes  of  his  youth,  — 

Ah  me,  how  many  an  autumn  day 
We  watched,  with  palpitating  breast, 

Some  stately  ship  from  India  or  Cathay, 
Laden  with  spicy  odors  from  tlie  East, 
Come  sailing  up  the  Bay  ! 


I 


m\  ( 


TTnto  our  youthful  hearts  elate. 
What  wealth  besicU'  their  real  freight 
Of  rich  material  things  they  bore  I 
Ours  were  Arabian  cargoes  fair. 
Mysterious,  exquisite,  and  rare. 


m 


SALEM   LEGENDS. 


1G9 


And  of  the  old  houses,  "  dark,  gloomy,  and  peculiar,"  wherein 
strange  things  were  saiil  to  lia\i'  happened,  he  says  :  — 

How  oft,  half  fearfully,  we  prowled 

Around  tliosc,  gabled  houses  quaint  and  old, 

Whosci  legends,  grim  und  terrible, 

Of  witch  and  ghost  that  used  in  them  to  dwell, 
Around  the  twilight  fire  were  told; 

While  liuddled  clo:<u  with  anxious  ear 

Vi'v  heard  them  cpiivering  with  fear  ; 

And  if  the  daylight  half  o'ercame  the  spell, 
'T  was  with  a  lin"erin<r  dread 

We  oped  the  door  and  touched  the  stinging  bell. 


I 


For  ■\\ith  its  sound  it  seemed  to  rouse  the  dead. 
And  wake  some  ghost  from  out  the  dusky  haunts 
Where  faint  the  daylight  fell. 

])Ut  it  so  ehanees  —  or  mischances,  according  to  the  light  in 
which  we  may  view  it  —  that  the  very  things  impeding  her  pro- 
gress have  left  Salem  all  the  more  interesting  for  our  own  purpose, 
—  as,  in  i'act,  it  must  he  to  him  Avho,  receiving  his  impressions 
from  history,  expects  to  find  distinct  traces  of  Endicott  and  of 
linger  AVilliams,  oi"  having  imlnhed  them  from  romance,  eagerly 
looks  about  him  for  some  authentic  memorials  of  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter"  or  for  "  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables."  For  here  the 
past  not  only  survives,  but  it  may  be  said  actually  to  flourish  with 
perennial  freshness  in  old  houses,  old  traditions,  old  silver, 
anti(pu!  portraits,  and  in  all  the  much  treasured  heirlooms  of 
other  days. 

The  two  most  noteworthy  things  tliat  liave  happened  in  Salem 
are  the  Witchcraft  Persecution  —  that  anomaly  among  events  — 
and  the  birth  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne, — tliat  anomaly  among 
men.  Witliout  suspecting  it,  the  traveller  who  arrives  by  the 
usiial  route  is  at  once  ushered  upon  the  seen  of  a  tragedy  in 
which  it  was  the  guilty  who  escaped,  and  the  innocent  who  were 
punislied. 

Just  out  ol  tlie  city,  on  its  southern  skirt,  the  Eastern  Railway 


1 


170 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


i 


s 


pusses  ■'.vithiu  near  view  of  an  uncouth  liea])  of  steoji-sided  gray 
rocks,  moderately  liigli,  on  wliose  windy  suiumit  a  few  houses 
make  a  group  of  dusky  silhouettes.  This  is  a  sort  of  waste 
place,  good  neither  for  planting,  grazing,  or  building,  nor  likely 
to  servo  any  more  useful  purpose  than  a  stone-quarry  or  a  land- 
mark might,  for  the  region  surrounding  it.  In  no  way  does  it 
vary  the  monotony  of  the  landscape,  being  wholly  treeless  and 
almost  without  vegetation.  Travellers  look  listlessly,  and  turn 
away.     Yet  stay  a  moment ! 

Long  ago,  so  long  that  no  living  man  remembers  it,  one  soli- 
tary tree  grew  upon  that  rocky,  wind-swept  height.  But  at  length 
a  blight  fell  upon  it ;  it  sickened  and  died  ;  its  limbs  one  by  one 
rotted  and  dropped  oil';  and,  after  contending  a  while  with  the 
wintry  blasts  that  threatened  to  uproot  it,  the  Avithered  skeleton 
of  a  tree  was  cut  dowji  and  cast  into  the  lire.  Those  cold  gi'ay 
ledges  where  it  stood  is  Gallows  Hill.  The  tree,  tradition  says, 
was  that  upon  which  the  condemned  witclies  w'ere  hung.  The 
houses  encroach  upon  the  graves  of  the  victims. 

From  the  moment  of  passing  this  fotal  place,  neither  the  noise 
nor  the  throng  will  be  able  to  distract  the  stranger's  thoughts, 
wholly  occupied  as  they  are  with  the  sinister  memories  that  the 
sight  has  awakened  within  him. 

Let  lis  throw  a  glance  around  us. 

Upon  entering  the  city,  the  great  high-road  running  north 
and  south  takes  the  more  ambitious  and  dignified  name  of 
street.  Upon  reaching  the  heart  of  the  city,  it  expands  into 
a  jiublic  square,  or,  not  to  mix  up  two  distinct  eras,  the  old 
town  market-place.  At  one  end  the  street  skirts  (Jallows  Hill. 
As  he  advances  towards  the  centre,  the  curious  visitor  may  still 
see  the  (piaint  old  house,  now  an  apothecary's,  in  which  Roger 
Williams  lived,  and  in  wdiich  tradition  says  that  some  of  the 
witchcraft  examinations  were  held  ;  in  the  Square  he  has  arrived 
in  the  region,  half  real,  half  romantic,  described  in  Hawthorne's 
tales  (not  twice,  but  a  thousand  times,  told),  "  ^Main  Street,"  "A 
Rill  from  the  Town-Pumi),"  and  "  Endicott  and  the  Eed  Cross," 
of  which  latter  this  is  a  fragment :  — 


A 


SALEM   LEGENDS. 


171 


"The  central  object  iu  the  luiiToicd  picture  wan  au  editice  oi' 
humble  architecture,  with  neither  .steeple  nor  l)ell  to  proclaim  it  — 
what  neveithele.ss  it  was  —  the  house  of  jjrayer.  A  token  of  the 
I)erils  of  the  Milderness  was  seen  in  the  grim  head  of  a  wolf  which 
had  just  been  .slain  within  the  jirccincts  of  the  town,  and,  according  to 
the  reguLu'  mode  of  claiming  the  bounty,  was  nailed  tcj  the  porch  of 
the  meetingdiouse.     The  lAood  was  still  plashing  on  the  door-step. 

"  In  close  vicinity  to  the  sacred  edilice  appeared  that  imjiortant  en- 
gine of  Puritanic  authoi'ity,  the  whipjjing-post — with  the  soil  around  it 
well  trodden  by  the  feet  of  evil-doers,  who  had  there  been  disciplined. 
At  one  corner  of  the  meeting-house  was  the  i)illory,  and  at  the  other 
the  stocks  ;  and,  by  a  singular  good  ibrtune,  for  our  sketch,  the  head 
of  an  Episcopalian  and  suspected  Catholic  was  grotesij^uely  inca">ed 
in  the  former  machine  ;  while  a  feUow-crinunal  who  had  boi-  i,er- 
ously  quaffed  a  health  to  the  King  was  ctmlined  by  the  K'gs  in  the 
latter." 


But  this  truly  Iludibrastic  picture  is  only  the  grimly  humo- 
rous ])relu(le  to  another  of  a  very  dillerent  nature,  u[)oii  wliieh  is 
founded  that  story  of  sin,  remorse,  and  shame,  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter." 

In  the  throng  surrounding  the  culitrits  just  sketched  for  us, 
"  There  was  likewise  a  young  woman  with  no  mean  share  of 
beauty,  whose  doom  it  was  to  wear  tlie  letter  'A'  on  tlie  In'east 
of  her  gown,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world  an<l  her  own  ehildren. 
And  even  her  own  children  knew  what  tliat  initial  signilied. 
Sporting  with  her  infamy,  the  lost  and  tlesperate  creature  had 
embroidered  the  fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth  with  golden  thread 
and  the  nicest  art  of  needlework ;  so  that  the  capital  A  might 
have  been  thought  to  mean  Admirable,  or  anything  rather  than 
Adulteress." 

Mr.  Hawthorne  tells  us  that  he  found  the  missive  from  Avliicdi 
this  incident  is  drawn,  and  which  subsequently  formed  the 
groundwork  of  his  novel,  in  the  room  occupied  by  him  in  the 
Salem  Custom-House  while  he  was  serving  as  surveyor  of 
the  port  under  the  veteran  General  James  Miller, — the  hero 
of  Lundy's  Lane.  In  one  respect,  therefore,  the  distinguished 
American  novelist's  life  has  its  analogy  to  tliat  of  Charles  Lamb, 


172 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


fullowiiig  whom  in  his  inimitahlu  nidiiologuo  on  the  South  Sea 
House,  whicli  I'onu.s  tlie  initial  chapter  to  the  "  Essays  of  Eha  " 
our  own  countiynian,  though  in  a  dili'invnt  spirit,  sketclios  the 
(Jill  Custom-House   and   its    corps    of  superannuated  weigliers, 

gangers,  and  tide-waiters  as  the  introduc- 
tory cliapter  to  "  The  Scarlet  Letter." 

This  old  red-hrick  edifice,  if  we  excei)t 
a  later  renovation  of  its  interior,  stands 
precisely  as  it  diil  in  the  novelist's  time,  — 
tlie  prominent  ohject  in  a  region  which  it 
is  only  too  evident  has  seen  better  days, 
but  is  gradually^  growing  more  and  more 
ruinous  as  every  year  th(!  houses  grow 
grayer  and  more  shaky.  The  same  Hag 
waves  from  the  cupola,  the  same  eagle, 
much  tarnished,  however,  by  the  weather,  extends  its  gildetl 
wings  above  the  entrance  door.  The  novelist  describes  it  in  a 
grimly  satirical  way  as  an  a.sylum  for  decaj'ed  politicians,  who 
dozed  and  sle[)t  in  easy  tranquillity  during  the  hours  nominally 
devoted  to  business,  there  being  little  to  do,  except  to  keep  up 
the  appearance  of  olHcial  regularity.  The  surveyor  cuts  his 
portraits  with  a  diamond.  His  desk,  showing  the  marks  of  a 
nervous  or  an  idle  hand  visible  in  many^  lines  and  gashes  upon 
it,  is  preserved  among  the  curiosities  of  I'lummer  Hall.  When 
we  look  at  it,  even  the  homage  due  to  genius  can  hardly  pre- 
vent a  feeling  of  pity  rising  for  the  life  that  was  so  long  overcast 
by  the  gloom  of  uufuUilled  aspirations,  so  embittered  by  the 
tardiness  of  a  recognition  which  came  too  late. 

Not  far  from  the  Custora-House,  in  a  narrow  by-street,  is  the 
ancient  wooden  tenement  in  which  the  novelist  was  l)orn.  We 
pass,  as  it  were,  through  a  corner  of  the  eighteenth  century^  of 
which  this  house  is  indubitably  a  relic.  It  is  an  huml)le  dwell- 
ing, witn  humble  surroundings.  Here  he  wrote  many  of  the 
shorter  tales,  that  it  is  entirely  safe  to  say  have  now  more  readers 
than  when  they  first  saw  the  light,  and  many  more  that  he  tells 
us  Avere  committed  to  the  flames ;   here  he  kept  that  long  and 


SALEM  LEGENDS. 


173 


weary  vigil  while  waiting  for  tlie  sLnv  dawning  of  his  fame ; 
and  here  he  tells  us  that  it  was  won. 

To  these  early  struggles,  ending  with  repeated  disappointment, 
is  doubtless  to  be  aseribed  tlie  indiilerence  with  wliieli  Haw- 
thorne speaks  of  the  eity  of  his  birth.  He  refers  his  return  to 
it  from  time;  to  time  to  a  sort  of  fatality  whieh  he  passively 
obeyed.  Though  indeed  he  athnits  a  eertain  languid  attrac- 
tion to  it,  we  can  hardly  distinguish  it  from  repulsion,  so  inti- 
mately do  these  opposite  feelings  mingle  in  the  current.  Yet 
the  same  hand  that  penned  "Tlie  House  of  the  Seven  (lables" 
and  the  "Old  Custom-House"  puts  the  early  history  of  Salem  in 
a  nutshell  in  "  ]\[ain  Street;"  and  it  also  gave  us  those  fascinat- 
ing chapters  of  revery,  "  Sights  from  a  Steeple  "  and  "  A  Jiill 
from  the  To\vn-Puni[),"  —  all  drawn  from  the  associations  of 
tlie  master's  birthplace. 

lint  to  speak  of  things  as  tliey  are,  "  Tlie  Scarlet  Letter  "  was 
really  one  of  those  ingenious  methods  of  punislimeut,  almost 
Satanio  in  their  conception,  wliicli  disgrace  the  criminal  annals 
of  the  Colony.  For  dillerent  oifences  a  dilferent  letter  was  pre- 
scribed, to  be  worn  as  wtill  in  [trivate  as  in  public,  —  the  weanir 
thus  being  made,  perhai)s  for  a  lifetime,  the  living  record  of  his 
or  her  own  infamy.  The  drunkard  wore  a  capital  letter  T>,  the 
criminal  convicted  of  incest  an  T,  of  heresy  an  H,  and  of  adultery 
an  A,  sewed  on  the  arm  or  breast ;  and  this  accusing  insignia  was 
forbidden  to  be  removetl  upon  pain  of  a  severer  penalty,  if  such 
a  thing  wei?e  possible.  ^Many  a  jxjor  sinner  thus  wore  his  heart 
upon  his  sleeve,  "  for  daws  to  peck  ;it." 

The  novelist,  by  instinct,  seized  upon  one  of  the  most  strik- 
ing episodes  of  the  hard  Puritan  life.  The  scene  of  his  tale  is 
laid,  not  in  Salem,  but  in  Boston.  As  we  have  said,  the  sketch 
of  "  Endicott  and  the  lied  Cross "  contains  the  germ  of  this 
story,  which  afterward  became  in  the  author's  hands  the  work 
generally  conceded  to  be  his  greatest. 

Although  Hawthorne  makes  bit  slight  use  of  the  witchcraft 
history  in  constructing  his  "  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  the 
opening  chapter  of  that  remarkable  story  shows  him  to  have 


174 


NKW-EX( ;LAN'I )    LE( ; ENDS. 


boeii  familiar  with  it.  But  iKitwitlistamliiig  the  fipparcnt  acUuT- 
cnco  to  truth  thoro,  contrived  with  such  consumiuatu  art  as  to 
fix  tlio  iiiii)rossion  in  the  reader's  mind  tliat  the  legend  of  the 
old  I'yncheou  family  is  derived  from  some  authentii^  source,  it 
will  Ije  better  to  regard  the  author's  statement,  made  in  his  own 
characteristic  way,  "  that  the  reader,  according  to  his  own  pleas- 
ure, may  either  disregard,  or  allow  it  to  float  imperceptibly  about 
tJio  characters  and  events  for  the  sake  of  picturcs(pie  effect." 
Thus  by  freely  availing  himself  of  the  names  of  actual  person- 
ages whose  history  is  artfully  interwoven  with  occurrences  that 
have  really  happened,  and  again  by  associating  these  with  local 
descriptions  of  rare  fidelity,  the  wished-for  effect  of  solid  reality 
is  produced,  ami  the  story  proceeds  on  a  chain  of  circumstantial 
evidence  whose  strength  lies  solely  in  the  master-hand  that  fab- 
ricated it,  link  by  link,  from  the  materials  of  his  own  rich  fancy. 
In  the  concluding  words  of  his  preface,  the  author,  with  singular 
frankness,  when  his  [)urpose  is  considered,  again  disenthralls  the 
minds  of  liis  auditors  of  the  effect  which  he  was  (piick  to  see 
that  his  peculiar  method  must  inevitably  produce  therein,  Ihit 
as  a  preface  is  always  the  last  thing  written,  so  it  notoriously  is 
the  last  to  be  read  ;  and  thus  has  the  author's  apohigy  for  intro(lu- 
cing  names  which  struck  his  fancy,  iind  for  connecting  them  with 
scenes  familiar  to  him  from  boyhood,  so  far  failed  of  its  pur- 
pose, that  people  still  persist  in  prying  into  the  antecedents  of  a 
famil}',  distinguished  in  the  early  annals  of  New  Kngland,  on 
whose  escutcheon  no  stain  or  stigma  is  known  to  rest ! 

After  this  cx[)lanation  it  will  be  scarcely  necessary  to  observe 
that  the  words  which  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  ^Vfatthew  Manlo 
at  the  moment  he  is  ascending  the  M\\\  ladder,  a  condemned 
and  abhorred  wizard,  and  which  form  the  underlying  motive  of 
the  "  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  —  the  blight  of  an  evil  destiny 
passing  from  generation  to  generation,  —  were  as  a  matter  of 
fact  really  spoken  by  Sarah  (lood,  not  to  Colonel  Pyncheon,  but 
to  the  Reverend  Nicholas  Noyes,  who  most  cruelly  and  wickedly 
embittered  her  last  moments  by  telling  her  that  she  was  a  mis- 
erable witch.     And  it  was  to  liim  she  made   the  memorable 


i  li 


SALEM   LEGENDS. 


175 


rejily  tliat  "  if  lio  took  away  her  life,  (!ud  would  give  liiia  blood 
to  drink. " 

'riicns  is,  howt'Vfi',  leason  for  supjiosiiiy,  .sinci!  it  has  been  so 
iiiimitcly  described,  that  the  house  of  the  seveu  yables  was 
at  least  suggested  by  that  of  Philip  English,  who  was  near 
beeomiu"-  a  imirtvr  to  the  witchcraft  horror  himself.  "What  is 
clearer  still,  is  that  the  novelist  has  laid  s('veral  of  the  old 
C(jlonial  houses,  both  in  Salem  and  Hoston,  under  contribution 
for  whatever  might  endjcllish  his  descripti(ni,  which  is  certainly 
no  invention,  l)ut  is  a  true  picture  of  the  early  architecture  even 
in  its  minutest  details.  Dut  in  such  an  unreal  atmosphere  as 
surrounds  it,  we  are  not  sure  that  the  house  itself  may  not  turn 
out  to  be  an  illusioji  of  the  mirage  created  by  an  effort  of  the 
weird  romancer's  will.  Its  a^jpearance  is  thus  portrayed  in  the 
opening  Avords  of  the  romance,  — 

"  There  it  rose,  a  little  withdrawn  from  the  line  of  the  street,  but  in 
pride,  n(jt  modesty.  Its  wliole  visil.le  exterior  was  ornamented  with 
(plaint  figures,  conceivoil  in  the  grotes(|ueness  of  a  Gothic  fancy, 
and  drawn  or  stamped  in  the  glittering  plaster,  composed  of  lime, 
pebbles,  and  bits  of  glass,  with  which  the  woodwork  of  the  wdls  was 
overspread.  On  every  side  the  seven  gables  pointed  sharply  towards 
the  sky,  and  presented  the  aspect  of  a  whole  sisterhood  of  editices, 
breatlung  through  the  spiracles  of  one  great  chhnuey.  The  many 
lattices,  with  their  small,  diamond-shaped  panes,  admitted  the  sun- 
light into  hall  and  clwunber,  while  nevertheless  the  second  story, 
projecting  far  over  the  base,  and  itself  retiring  beneath  the  third, 
threw  a  shadowy  and  thouj^htful  gl  loni  into  the  lower  rooms.  Carved 
globes  of  wood  were  affixed  under  the  jutting  stories.  Little  spiral 
rod'^  of  iron  beautified  each  of  the  seven  peaks.  On  the  trian,sj;ular 
portion  of  the  gable,  that  fronted  next  the  street,  was  a  dial,  put  up 
that  very  morning,  and  on  which  the  sun  wns  still  marking  the  y)as- 
sage  of  the  first  bright  hour  in  a  history  that  was  not  destined  to  be 
all  so  bricrht." 


v-r 


1. 


176 


Ni:W-ENGLANl)   LE(iKMDS. 


THE   ESCAPE   OF   PHILIP    ENGLISH. 

rr^^lIE  story  uf  Philip  English  and  his  wile  is  qnitc  us  well 
_1_  worthy  a  romance  as  tho  house  in  which  thoy  lived.  Wo 
can  moreover,  answer  I'or  its  strict  trutli. 

During  the  time  of  the  witchcraft  delusion  at  the  Village,  the 
victims  were  in  nearly  every  case  i)eoi)le  in  tiie  humblest  walk  of 
life.  Philip  Enghsh  of  Salem  was  the  lirst  person  of  superior 
station  to  be  attainted  by  this  i)ersecution,  which,  like  a  wolf 
that  is  maddeneil  by  the  taste  of  blood,  began  to  grow  bolder  in 
pursuit  of  its  victims. 

Philip  English  bad  emigrated  to  America  trom  the  island  of 
Jersey.  Having  found  a  home  in  the  family  of  Mr.  William 
Hollingsworth,  a  wealthy  inhaljitant  of  Salem,  he  formed  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  HoUingsworth's  only  child,  Susanna,  who, 
as  is  evident  from  her  history,  besides  having  received  from  luu' 
father  an  education  superior  to  the  usual  requirements  of  that 
day,  possessed  rare  endowments  of  mind  and  person.  The 
acquaintance  ripened  into  mutual  atfection,  and  in  due  time 
Philip  English  married  the  daughter  of  his  friend  and  patron. 
He  too  became  in  time  a  rich  and  eminent  mercliant. 

In  April,  1692,  the  terrible  accusation  fell  like  a  thuiulerbolt 
upon  this  happy  home.  The  wife  and  mother  was  the  first 
victim  to  the  credulity  or  malignity  of  her  neighbors.  In  the 
nio-ht  the  officer  entered  her  bedchamber,  read  his  fatal  war- 
rant,  and  then  surrounded  the  house  with  guards,  intending  to 
carry  her  to  prison  in  the  morning.  Mrs.  English  gave  herself 
up  for  lost.  With  supreme  heroism,  however,  she  gathered  her 
stricken  family  together  in  the  morning  to  its  usual  devotions, 
gave  directions  for  the  education  of  her  chihlren,  clasped  them 
to  her  bosom,  kissed  them,  and  then,  commending  them  and  her- 


I 


i 


TlIK    KSUAi'H    OK    I'llILIl'    KNliLISII. 


177 


soil"  to  (Ji)il,  biult!  tlii'in  liirowtjU.  .Sho  Wiis  then  takiMi  by  tlic 
sherill  bcfdru  the  .sittiiiL;  iiia^'istrutcs,  IliitlioriK'  mid  Ciiiwi'ii, 
who  coiumitted  her  tu  Suh;iu  jail  as  a  svilch.  Jloi'  linunoss  is 
luoinoralik'.  A  litlln  lat(!i'  her  liushaiKl  wu.s  also  iiccu.sod  hy  a 
pour  htMlriihlcn  crtuituif.  lie  concealed  hiuiscli'  for  a  time;  l)ut 
ut  lenj,'th  he.  oamo  forward,  j^ave  hinisell'  iij),  and  dt-nianded  the. 


PinUP   ENOLISH  S   HOUSE,  SA.LKM. 

privilo^'e  of  sharing  his  wile's  fate,  'riie  two  wero  imiiiurod  in 
the  same  dungiion  to  await  the  solemn  farce  of  a  trial.  The 
prison  being  crowded  to  overflowing,  English  and  liis  wife 
were,  throngh  the  intercession  of  friends,  removed  to  the  jail  in 
Boston,  wliere  for  six  weeks  they  endured  the  dismal  ])ros])ect 
of  dying  together  upon  the  scail'old. 

12 


i 


! 


{  ! 


17H 


N  K\V-KN( ;  LAX  I )    LEGKNDS. 


l!iil  I'tM'Uuiatcly  fur  tlii'iii,  and  in  (■(hiscm (nonce,  (((juhtk'.s.s,  of 
th(f  fact  tliaL  Mii^^lisli  was  a  incrcliant  nf  imijK^rty,  and  a  [icrsdn 
of  known  probity,  lie  and  his  unfortiinato  wife  were  admitted 
to  liail,  lii'iug  allowed  the  piivilei^c;  of  thi;  town  hy  day,  on 
condition  of  [mnotually  retnrnin;^  {<>  the  prison  at  niyht,  to  \iv 
loek(!d  ni»  again  until  tlie  folhtwing  nioriiing.  Tliough  ren 
deriiig  their  condition  more  toIeral)le,  this  did  not  make  it 
the  less  lui[ieless.  They  were  visited  in  their  prison  hy  some 
of  the  most  endni'nt  clergymen  of  the  town,  one  of  whom, 
the  lie\ci'end  Joshua  Moody,  —  peace  to  his  memory!  —  luaid 
festod  the  dee])est  interest  in  their  spiritual  and  temporal  wel- 
fare. This  good  man,  whose  sound  head  refused  to  adndt  the 
prevailing  delusion,  while  his  e(pially  souiul  heart  tit'ed  him  for 
deeds  of  liiercy,  like  that  U[ion  which  he  was  now  bent,  went  to 
tlie  prison  on  the  day  before  JMiglish  and  his  wife  were  lo  be 
taken  back  to  Salem  for  trial,  and  invited  them  to  attend  at  pub- 
lic worbliip  in  his  churcli.     They  went. 

When  he  ascended  the  pul[»it,  the  clergyman  announced 
as  his  text  this  verse.  Laving  a  i)eculiar  signilieance  to  two  (jf 
his  hearers :  "  If  they  persecuto  you  in  ouo  city,  llee  into 
another!" 

In  his  discour.se,  the  preacher  justified,  witli  manly  courage 
and  directness,  any  ami  every  attempt  to  escape  from  the  forms 
of  justice  when  justice  itself  was  being  violated  in  them. 
After  the  .service  was  over,  the  minister  again  visit<'d  the  prison- 
ers in  their  cell,  and  asked  English  pointedly  whether  he  had 
detected  the  moaning  of  his  sermon  of  the  morning.  English 
hesitating  to  commit  himself,  ]\[r.  Moody  frankly  told  him  that 
his  (»wn  life  and  that  of  his  wife  were  in  danger,  and  that  he, 
looking  this  in  the  face,  ought  to  provide  for  an  escajie  without 
losing  a  moment.  English  could  not  believe  it ;  it  was  too 
monstrous.  "  God  will  not  suffer  them  to  hurt  me,"  he  said  in 
this  convi(!tion. 

"  AVhat,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  "  do  you  not  think  that  they 
wlio  have  suffered  already  were  innocent  1 " 

«  Yes." 


THK    KSUArE   OK    I'lllLIl'    KNGLISII. 


179 


"  Why,  tliL'ii,  may  we  nut  siifler  also?  Taki-  ^[r.  Moody's 
advice  ;  let  us  tly." 

To  make  ;iii  end  of  thi.s  ind(!ci.si(in,  lu'ocecdinj^  [Vom  the  hnir 
that  llight  would  he  (juiekly  construed  to  mean  yuilt,  Mr.  Moody 
then  unfolded  his  iilaii.  lie  tuhl  the  reluctant  English  that 
everything  necessary  lor  his  escape  had  heeu  already  [UMvided  : 
that  the  (jiovernor,  Sir  William  l'hi[)s,  was  in  the  secret,  and 
countenanced  it;  that  the  jailer  liad  his  instructions  to  open 
tlie  prison  doors ;  and  that,  finally,  all  heing  in  readiness,  at 
miihiight  a  conveyance,  furnished  by  friends  who  were  in  the 
jildt,  wotdd  come  to  cany  tliem  away  to  a  place  of  secuiity. 
In  fact  every  precaution  that  prudence  could  suggest  or  fore- 
see, or  that  iulluence  in  high  places  could  secure,  had  heen 
taken  l)y  this  nol)l(!  and  self-sacriUcing  Christian  man  in  order 
to  prevent  the  shedding  of  innocent  Idood.  lie  procured  let- 
ters, under  Sir  William's  own  hand  and  seal,  to  (Invernur 
Fletcher  of  X(!w  York,  thus  j)roviding  for  the  fugitives,  lirst 
a  safeguard,  and  next  au  inviolable  asylum.  Finally,  he  tol(. 
iMiglish  plaiidy  tliat  if  he  did  not  carry  his  wife  oif,  he. 
Moody,  would  do  so  himself.  The  aifair  was  arranged  on  the 
spot. 

At  the  appointed  time  tlie  prison  doors  were  unltarred,  the 
prisoners  came  out,  and  whiUi  the  solemn  stillness  of  nndnight 
brotided  over  the  aiUicted  town,  they  lied  r.jiu  persecution  in 
one  city  into  another. 

(Governor  Fletcher  took  the  homeless  wanderers  into  his  own 
mansion,  where  he  made  them  welcome,  not  as  fugitives  from 
justice,  but  as  exiles  fleeing  from  persecution.  They  were  enter- 
tained as  the  most  honored  of  gnests.  The  next  year  Philip 
Knglisli  returned  home.  The  storm  of  madness  had  jnissed  by, 
leaving  its  terrible  marks  in  many  households.  His  own  was 
(destined  to  feel  its  consequences  in  a  way  to  turn  all  his  joy 
into  sorrow.  \Vitliin  two  years  from  the  time  she  was  .orn 
from  her  home  to  answer  the  charge  of  fehmy,  Mrs.  Eng- 
lish died  of  the  cruel  treatment  she  had  received.  Mr.  Moody's 
course  was  commended  by  all  discerning  men,  as  it  deserved ; 


"^ 


r 

.i 
I  ii 


180 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


l)ut  he  I'elt  the  angry  ro.sentnieiit  uf  tlic  multitude,  among  whom 
s  iiuo  pei'sous  of  high  rank  wero  included.  In  consecj^uenco  of 
this  perdecution  he  returned  to  his  old  charge  at  Portsmouth, 
New  Hampshire,  the  next  year  after  his  successful  inleri)0- 
sition  to  save  Mr.  and  Mrs.  English  from  the  executioner's 
uids. 

Sucii  is  the  tradition  long  preserved  in  the  Englisli  family. 
I'hilip  English's  granddaughter  hecame  Susanna  Hathorne,  — 
which  was  the  original  way  of  spelling  the  name  subseipiently 
borne  hy  the  novelist.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  had  thus  on  one 
side  for  an  ancestor  the  implacable  persecutor  of  those  to  whom 
he  was  afterward  to  be  related  by  intermarriage,  tlius  furnish- 
ing the  idea  he  has  so  ingeniously  worked  out  in  the  "House  of 
the  Seven  Gables." 

Having  given  an  extract  from  Hawthorne's  story  of  "Endicott 
anil  tlie  lied  Cross,"  we  may  as  well  tell,  with  his  help,  the 
story  itself. 


ENDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS. 

IX  1G34  one  of  the  newly  arrived  ships  brought  from  Eng- 
land a  copy  of  the  commission  granted  to  the  two  Arch- 
bishops and  ten  of  the  Council  to  regulate  all  ])lantations,  to 
call  in  all  patents,  to  make  laws,  raise  tithes  and  portions  for 
ministers,  to  remove  and  punish  governors,  and  to  hear  and 
determine  all  causes  and  intlict  all  punishments,  even  to  the 
death-penalty.  This  plenary  power,  the  (Jolouists  were  advised, 
was  levelled  at  them  ;  ships  and  soldiers  were  said  to  be  pre- 
paring in  England  to  bring  over  a  royal  governor  and  to  give 
effect  to  the  much-dreaded  commission.  A  more  distasteful 
piece  of  intelligence  than  this  could  hardly  be  imagined.  It 
struck  at  once  at  the  root  of  all  their  liberties,  and  it  (juickly 


11 


..f 

^1 


I 

4? 


"^ 


KNDICOTT    AM)    TIIK    RED   CROSS. 


181 


CUTTING   OUT   THE    CROSS. 


aroused  the  spirit  of  resistance  in  full  vigor.  The  work  of  erect- 
ing fortifications  was  hastened.  A  solemn  consultation  between 
the  magistrates  nnd  the  ministers 
resulted  in  the  determination  to 
dd'end  themselves  against  these 
innovations  by  force  if  there  was 
a  prospect  of  success,  or  by  tem- 
porizing if  there  were  none.  Oidy 
in  die  fourth  year  of  its  existence, 
the  Colony  now  stood  on  the 
verg(!  of  open  rebellion  ;  and  while 
thus  in  daily  appivhension  of  the 
total  sul)Vcrsion  of  the  govern- 
ment, an  act  coming  v(!ry  little 
short  of  treasonable  was  per- 
formed. 

At   the  .Xovend)er  court   com- 
])laint     was     made     by    Richard 

Brown,  of  Watertown,  that  the  Colony  flag  had  been  defaced 
at  Salem  by  cuttirig  out  part  of  the  red  cross.  Xo  action  was 
taken  at  this  court,  but  at  the  next,  Endicott,  the  old  goveriuu-, 
was  vjalled  upon  to  answer  for  the  defacement.  The  cause  that 
he  alleged  for  the  act  was  that  the  cross  was  the  hated  (>ndilem 
and  banner  of  I'opery.  Opinion  being  divided,  sonut  uplu)lding 
and  others  censuring,  the  cause  was  again  postponed  ;  and  in  t]w 
meantime  the  newly  created  militury  commission  ordered  all  the 
ensigns  to  be  laid  aside,  so  that  the  Colony  was  now  without 
any  tlag  at  all. 

At  the  next  court,  which  was  one  of  election,  John  Haynes 
was  chosen  governor  arid  Richard  IJcllingham  deputy-governor. 
Endicott  was  left  this  time  out  of  the  muuber  of  assistant? ;  and 
being  agnin  called  upon  to  defend  his  mutilating  the  ensign,  was 
reprimanded,  and  disqualilied  from  holding  office  for  a  year. 
Letters  disavowing  the  act  were  written  to  England.  To  allay 
the  excitement  growing  out  of  this  affair,  it  was  seriously 
proposed   to  substitute   the   red   and    white  rose  for   the    cross 


182 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Hi  1 


i! 


ill    tlio    colors.      The    military  commission    at'torwiird,    in    the 
exercise  of  its  powers,  left  out  th(!  cross  in  tlie  colors   boriio 

by   the    Colony  troojis,    and 
caused    a    flag    having    the 
King's  arms  to  be  raised  over 
the    castle    in    Bost<ni     Har- 
bor.    'Jliis   leads    us    to   ob- 
serve that  the  fathers  of  tlio 
Colony  were    making    rajjid 
strides  towards  independence. 
They     had     lirst    rcd'used    to 
tolerate  the  only  form  of  re- 
ligious worship  recognizetl  l)y 
the    laws    of    their    country, 
had  disobeyed   a  royal  man- 
date, and  had  at  length  exer- 
cised the    sovereignty    of  an 
independent  State  liy  adopt- 
ing a  flag  of  their  own. 

With    this     preamble    -wo 
can  take  up  understandingly 
Hawthorne's  tale,  and  from  this  point  it  is  lie  who  speaks  :  — 


SOLUIER  OF  1630. 


"  Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  times  when  tlie  folds  of  an  Eiiglisli 
banner,  with  the  red  cross  in  its  field,  wiTe  ilung  out  over  a  com- 
pany of  Puritans.  Tiieir  leader,  the  famous  Eiidicott,  was  a  man 
of  stern  ami  resohito  countenance,  tlie  effect  of  wliiuli  was  height- 
ened liy  a  grizzled  ]k  ard  that  swept  the  upper  portion  of  his  breast- 
plate. ..." 

Having  concluded  a  fiery  harangue  to  his  soldiers,  in  which 
he  ac(piaints  them  with  the  dangers  menacing  the  unrestrained 
liberty  of  conscience  they  have  hitherto  enjoyed,  — 

"  Eiidicott  gazed  round  at  the  excited  countenances  of  the  people, 
now  full  of  liis  own  spirit,  and  then  turned  suddenly  to  the  standard- 
bear(!r,  who  stood  close  behind  him. 

" '  Officer,  lower  your  banner  ! '  said  he. 


I 


CASSANDRA    SOUTIIW    JK. 


183 


"Tlie  oliicei  oU-vcmI  ;  and  brandishing'  hi.s  sword,  Endicott  thrust 
it  thiDiigh  tlu'  (dolii^  and  witii  his  k;t't  hand  rent  llie  red  cross  com- 
jdotely  (lilt  i)i  the  banner,  lie  tlion  waved  the  tattered  ensign  above 
his  liead. 

"  •  Sacrilegious  wretch  I '  cried  the  High  Churchman  in  the  pillory, 
unable  hmger  to  restrain  himself,  '  thou  hast  rejected  the  synd)ol  of 

our  holy  religion  ! ' 

'"  Treason,  treason! '  roared  the  royalist  in  the  stocks.     'He  hath 

defaced  the  King's  lianiierl' 

"' Before  God  and  man  I  will  avouch  the  deed,'  ansvered  Endi- 
cott. '  Beat  a  tiourish,  drununer !  —  shout,  soldiers  and  people  !  —  in 
honor  of  the  ensign  of  New  England.  Neither  Pope  nor  Tyrant  hath 
part  in  it  now  1 ' 

"  With  a  cry  of  triumph,  the  people  gave  their  sanction  to  one  of 
the  boldest  expL)its  which  our  history  records.  And  forever  honored 
be  the  name  of  Endicott !  We  look  back  through  the  mist  of  ages, 
and  recognize,  in  the  rending  of  the  red  cross  from  New  England's 
banner,  the  lirst  omen  of  that  deliverance  which  our  fathers  consum- 
mated, after  the  bones  of  the  stern  Puritan  had  lain  more  than  a 
century  in  the  dust." 

In  tilt!  King's  "  ^Missive,"  Wliittier  commemorates  briefly  the 
same  incident  of  history. 


CASSANDRA  SOUTHWICK. 


\  NOTHElv  Salem  legend  recalls  the  dark  day  of  (^)uakor 
Jl\.  persecution  vividly  before  us.  It  is  another  story  of 
the  cruelties  ])erpetrated  upon  this  sect,  whose  innovations  upon 
the  forms  of  religious  worship  established  in  the  Puritan  Colony 
and  made  part  of  its  fundamental  law,  wi're  regarded  and  pun- 
ished as  heresies  threatening  the  .stability  of  its  institutions,  — 
with  what  incredible  rigor  the  records  show. 

The  Quaker  poet  has  taken  this  sad  chapter  for  the  theme  of 
his  poem  entitled  "  Cassandra  Southwick,"  and  as  the  legitimate 


1.S4 


NEW-KNOLAXI)    LKCKNDS. 


av(aiger  of  tho  cruel  wrongs  inflicted  so  long  ago  upon  the  suf- 
fering Friends,  ho  now  iipplies  the  lash  nnsjviringly  to  the  nieni- 
ory  of  those  who  acted  prominent  parts  in  commencing  these 
l)arl)arities.  This  may  bo  called  poetic  justice  in  its  most  literal 
sense. 

AVe  will  not  ask  whether,  in  obeying  tho  impulse  to  right  one 
wrong,  the  poet  in  presenting  this  case  has  done  full  justice  to 


J    !: 


\l   'd 


i 


CONDEMNED   TO   BE    SOID. 

the  spirit  of  history.  His  is  a  righteous  indignation,  to  which 
every  sympathetic  heart  ([uickly  responds.  Xevortholess  it 
should  be  said,  in  i)assing,  tliat  tho  sins  of  the  rulers  were 
those  of  a  majority  of  the  ])eople,  who.  ])y  iirst  making  the  laws 
against  the  (^)uakers,  and  then  consenting  to  their  enforcement,  — 
nponthc  maxim  that  a  liouse  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand, 
—  are  the  really  guilty  objects  of  this  posthumous  arraignment. 
Endicott,  Norton,  Uawson,  and  the  others  were  but  the  agents. 


^ 


C.VSSANDKA    SOl'TUWICK. 


185 


To  construct  liis  nocin,  to  hociu'c  in  ailviuici^  fur  his  tlicmc  the 
greatest  possible  symputliy,  the  p<.et  has  centred  our  attention 
npon  a  ^vonian,  —  a  nuiijlen  in  wlioiu  faitli  and  fortitude  are 
stron-ly  and  beautifully  <level(>ped,  and  who  in  the  midst  of  her 
suifering«  —  for  her  tender  back  has  felt  the  lash  -confronts 
her  i)erseeutors  with  the  calm  resignation  of  a  (Christian  martyr 
and  the  siiirit  of  ii  -loan  of  Arc. 

\Vc  cannot  help  it  if  much  of  the  glamour  thus  thrown  around 
the  legendary  tale  should  disappear  in  <iur  plain,  unvarnished  one. 
lUit  it" shairspeak  for  itself.  Cassandra  Southwhtk  was  the  wife 
of  Laurence  Southwick,  a  citizen  ot  Salem  in  the  year  IGoG. 
They  were  a  grave  coui-le,  advance.l  in  years,  and  had  three 
grown  ^^[^  children,  —  Provided,  a  daughter  ;  an.l  -losiah  and 
Daniel,  their  sons.  The  whole  fandly  unite. I  with  the  Society 
of  Friends,  fell  under  suspicion,  and  were  included  in  the  per- 
secution which  resulted  in  their  being  driven  from  their  homes 
into  exile  and  death.  The  parents  being  banished  from  the 
Cohmy  ui.on  pain  of  death,  they  fled  to  Shelter  Island,  where 
they  lived  only  a  sh(jrt  time,  one  dying  within  three  days'  time 
of  the  other,  and  b..,pieathing  the  memory  of  their  wrongs  to 

their  children. 

While  the  aged  couple  and  ,losiah,  the  S(»n,  were  languishing 
in  Boston  jail,"Provided  and  Daniel  being  left  at  home,  -  j.re- 
sumably  in  want,  since  the  cattle  and  household  goods  had 
alreadv  been  distrained,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  fines  rei.eatedly 
imposed  upon  them  by  the  courts—  these  two,  who  in  the  nar- 
rative are  called  children,  were  also  lined  ten  pomids  for  not 
attending  public  w'orship  at  Salem. 

To  get  this  nioney,  the  General  Court  sittuig  at  Boston  issued 

this  order  :  — 

"Whereas  Daniel  an.l  Pn.vi.Ud  Southwick,  sou  and  .laught.r  u. 
Laurence  Soutliwi..k.  l.av.-  be.-n  line.l  by  the  County  Courts  at  Salem 
an.l  Ipswich,  preten.Ung  they  have  no  estates,  resolving  n..t  to  w..rk  ; 
an.l  ..tlu.rs  likewise  have  been  lined,  and  m..r.'  [are)  like  t..  b,.  tme.l, 
fur  si.ling  with  the  Quakers,  and  absenting  themselves  from  tlu^  public 
ordiiuuurs,  -  in  answer  t..  a  .piesti.m  what  course  shall  be  Xakvu  l..r 


^r^ 


rM  ^ 


i: 


!     'i 


'     1 


186 


NEW-EXGLANI)    LEGENDS. 


the  .siitisfaction  ot'  tliu  iiiiox,  llu-f'oiivt.  on  ^ktilsuI  of  the  luw,  title 
•Arrests,'  resolve,  that  tlie  treasurers  (j1'  the  several  counties  are,  and 
-shall  herijliv  l)e,  enijiowered  to  sell  the  said  ])ersons  lo  anv  of  the 
English  nation  at  Virginia  or  Barbadoes." 

Joseph  Ijesse,  in  his  account  of  the  all'air,  goes  on  to  state 
that,  — 

"  Puisuant  to  this  order,  FJward  Butter,  one  of  the  treasurers,  to 
get  something  of  the  booty,  sought  out  lor  passage  to  .send  th(Ma  to 
Barbadoes  for  sale  ;  but  none  were  willing  to  take  or  carry  thcni. 
And  a  certain  niastei'  of  a  ship,  to  piit  the  thing  oil,  ])retended  that 
they  woidd  spoil  all  the  ship's  company  ;  to  whidi  Butter  replied, 
'  No,  you  need  not  fear  that  ;  for  they  are  poor,  harmless  creatures, 
and  will  not  hurt  anybody.' 

"  '  Will  they  not  so  ? '  replied  the  sliii>master  ;  '  and  will  you  offer 
to  make  slaves  of  such  harmless  creatures?' 

"  Thus  Butter,  notwithstanding  his  wicked  intention,  when  he  could 
get  no  opportunity  to  send  them  away,  the  winter  being  at  hand,  sent 
theui  home  again  to  shift  for  themselves." 

This  is  the  account  that  is  followed  Ly  Whittier  in  "  Cassan- 
dra Southwick."  The  parents  were,  as  we  have  said,  banished. 
Josiah,  who  had  been  whipped  from  town  to  town  at  the  cart's 
tail,  fined,  imprisoned,  and  finally  banished,  went  over  to  Eng- 
land, there  to  give  testimony  against  his  o])prossors.  But  while 
neither  the  Quaker  maiden  nor  her  l)rot]ier  was  actually  sold 
into  bondage,  it  was  only  a  few  months  later  that  the  former 
Avas  scourged  upon  the  bare  back  and  again  committed  to  prison. 

In  the  poet's  hands  these  incidents  are  woven  into  a  narra- 
tive of  deepest  [)athos  and  fervor;  and  though  the  coloring  is 
heightened,  it  will  be  ol)served  that  the  inciilents  themselves  are 
nearly  all  true,  the  poet  liaving  arranged  them  to  suit  his  OAvn 
fancy.  The  girl  lies  on  her  pallet  awaiting  tlie  fullihnent  of  the 
r.o  .iice  she  is  to  undergo  on  the  morrow.  She  stands  in  the 
market-place  in  the  presence  of  a  gaping  crowd.  She  turns  with 
withering  .scorn  upon  the  minister  who  is  whispering  counsel 
or  support  into  Kni.icott's  ear.  Her  innocence,  her  beauty,  and 
her  sufierings  plead  for  her  in   the  hearts  of  those  who  have 


1  1 

1 

. 

?        ; 

[ 

i 

CASSANUUA   SOUTIIWICK. 


187 


como  to  (li'i'ido,  poi'luii).s  tu  insult,  licr.  Oiio  burst  of  honest 
wrath  (|iuckly  turns  the  suiilo  in  lior  favor.  >»o  on(3  will  take 
her  away.  The  iniquitous  proceedings  arc  stopped,  and  the 
(^)uak(;r  maiden  walks  away  from  the  spot  free,  as  if  by  the 
intervention  (jf  a  miracle. 

Slow  broke  the  gray  cold  morning  ;  again  the  sunshine  fell, 
Flecked  with  the  shade  of  har  and  gralc'  within  my  lonely  cell  ; 
The  hoar-frost  melted  on  the  wall,  and  upward  from  the  street 
Came  careless  laugh  and  idle  word,  and  tread  of  passing  feet. 

At  length  the  heavy  bolts  fell  Ijack,  my  dour  was  open  cast. 
And  slowly  at  the  sherilf's  side,  up  the  long  street  1  passed  ; 
I  heard  the  munnur  round  me,  and  felt,  but  dared  not  see, 
IIow,  from  every  dour  and  windmv,  the  people  gazetl  on  me. 


And  there  were  ancient  citizens,  cluak-wrapped  and  grave  and  cokl, 
And  grim  and  stout  sea-captains  with  faces  bronzed  and  old, 
And  on  his  horse,  with  Rawsun,  his  cruel  clerk,  at  hand, 
Sat  dark  and  haughty  Endicutt,  the  ruler  of  the  land. 

Tlien  to  ihe  stout  sea-captains  the  sheriff,  turning,  said, — 
'  Which  of  ye,  worthy  seamen,  will  take  this  Quaker  maid  ? 
In  the  Isle  ol  fair  Barbadues,  or  un  Virginia's  shore, 
You  may  hold  her  at  a  higher  price  than  Indian  girl  or  Moor." 

A  weight  seemed  lifted  from  my  heart, — a  pitying  friend  was  nigh, 
I  felt  it  in  his  hard,  rough  hand,  and  saw  it  in  his  eye  ; 
And  when  again  the  sherifl'  spoke,  that  voice,  so  kind  to  me. 
Growled  back  its  stormy  answer  like  the  roaring  of  the  sea,  — 

"  Pile  my  ship  with  bars  of  silver,  —  pack  with  coins  of  Spanish  gold. 
From  keel-piece  up  to  deck-plank,  the  roomage  ot  her  hold. 
By  tlie  living  God  who  ma<le  me  I  —  I  would  sooner  in  your  bay 
Sink  ship  and  crew  and  cargo,  than  bear  this  child  away !  " 

I  looked  on  haughty  Endicott  ;  with  weapon  half-way  drawn. 
Swept  rounil  the  throng  his  lion  glan;  of  bitter  hate  and  scorn  ; 
Fiercely  he  di'ew  his  bridle-rein,  and  turned  in  silence  back. 
And  sneering  priest  and  baffled  clerk  rode  murmuring  in  his  track. 


lUii 


Haai 


I    I 


I.   I 


i  ii 


::  tl 


188 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE  WITCHCRAFT   TRAGP^DY. 

TIIK  place  wlicro  a  great  criiuo  lias  boon  Cdiuiiiiltcd  has 
always  something  strangely  fascinating  about  it.    jVccursod 

jugh  it  may  l)e,  repulsive  as  its  associations  generally  are,  yet 
most  people  -will  go  a  greater  distance  to  see  the  locality  of  a 
murder  than  'hey  would  take  the  troul)le  to  do  for  any  other 
purpose  whatsoever.  The  house  where  a  great  man  has  Ihmmi 
born  is  often  quite  uid^nown  and  unvisited  even  in  its  own 
neighborhood ;  the  house  that  is  associated  with  a  murder  or  a 
homicide  never  is. 

Charles  Lamb  hits  the  nail  fairly  on  the  lu'ad  —  and  ho 
is  speaking  not  of  !New,  but  of  Old,  England  —  when  hi>  says 
that,— 

"  We  are  too  lia^'ty  when  wo  set  down  oiu'  aucesturs  in  the  gross  for 
fools  f(jr  the  nionstrnus  inconsistencies  (as  tliey  seem  to  us)  invulvt'd 
in  their  creed  of  witcliLTal't.  In  the  relations  ot  this  visihle  world  we 
find  them  to  have  been  as  rational  and  shrewd  to  deti'tt  an  historic 
anomaly  as  ourselves.  But  when  once  tlie  iM\isi1)le  world  was  sup- 
posed to  be  opened,  and  the  lawless  agency  of  bad  spirits  assumed, 
what  measures  of  jirolialiility,  of  decency,  of  fitness  or  ]iroportion, — 
of  tliat  which  distinguishes  the  likely  from  the  palpable  alisurd, — 
could  they  have  to  guide  them  in  the  rejection  or  admission  of  any 
particuLir  testimony  ?  That  maidens  pined  away,  wasting  inwardly 
as  their  waxen  images  consumed  before  a  fire  ;  that  corn  \vas  lodged 
and  cattle  lamed  ;  lliat  whirlwinds  u]»tore  in  diabolic  revelry  the 
oaks  of  the  forest  ;  or  that  spits  and  kettles  only  danced  a  fearful 
innocent  vagary  about  some  rustic's  kitchen  when  no  wind  was  stir- 
ring. —  were  all  ecpially  probable  where  no  law  of  agency  was  und(;r- 
stood." 

This  is  the  judgment  of  a  keenly  analytical  and  thoughtful 
mind,  expressed  with  the  large-hearted  human  sympathy  with 


'illj;    WITCIIUHAFT   TUAUEDY. 


189 


\vliii;li  ho  was  endowed.  It  deals  with  the  universally  prevalent 
hc'lii  1  in  witclieral't.  To  reiiif'Mi'oo  this  with  tiie  view.s  di' an  able 
and  discriniiiialin^^  Jurist  will  uul  bn  deemed  out  ut' place  here. 

"We  may  laiiieiil,  then,"  says  Judge  Stuiy  in  his  Centennial  Ad- 
dress at  Halem,  "the  errors  ol'  tlic  times  which  led  to  these  2)rosecu- 
tions.  But  surely  our  ancestors  hud  no  special  reasons  for  shame  in 
a  belief  which  had  the  universal  sanction  of  their  own  and  all  formrr 
ages  ;  which  counted  in  its  train  philosophers  as  well  as  enthusiasts  ; 
which  was  graced  liy  the  learning  of  pielates  as  well  as  the  counte- 
nance of  kings  ;  which  the  law  supported  hy  its  mandates,  and  the 
purest  judges  felt  no  compunctions  in  enlurcing.  l^et  Witch  Hill 
remain  forever  menioraMe  hy  this  sad  catasirniilie,  not  to  ]iei[)etuate 
our  dishonor,  but  as  an  alfecting,  enduring  proof  of  human  inluinity, 
—  a  proof  that  jierfect  justice  Ijelongs  to  one  judyuient-seat  only, — 
that  which  is  linked  to  the  ihroue  of  (Jod." 

What  .vas  this  belief,  then,  wlueli  had  such  high  moral  and 
legal  sanction]  It  was  tins,  —  That  the  l)evil  might  and  did 
personally  appear  to,  enter  into,  and  actively  direct,  the  every- 
day life  of  men.  And  he  did  tliis  without  the  intervention  of  any 
of  those  ]nagiial  arts  or  conjurations  such  as  were  once  thought 
imlispensable  to  induce  him  to  })iit  in  an  appearance.  For  this 
there  was  Scripture  authority,  chapter  and  verse.  He  was  sup- 
posed to  come  sometimes  in  one  form,  sometimes  in  aiic^ther,  to 
temiit  his  victims  Avith  the  pronuse  that  upon  their  signing  a 
contract  to  become  his,  both  bod}-  and  soul,  they  should  want 
for  nothing,  and  that  he  would  undi'rtake  to  revenge  them  upon 
all  their  enemies.  The  traditional  witch  was  usually  some  de- 
crepit old  village  crone,  of  a  sour  and  malignant  temper,  who 
was  as  thoroughly  hated  as  feared ;  but  this  did  not  exclude  men 
from  sharing  in  the  power  of  becoming  noted  wizards,  —  though 
from  the  great  number  of  women  who  were  accused,  it  would 
appear  that  the  Arch- Enemy  ustially  ])refcrred  to  try  his  arts 
upon  the  weaker  and  more  imj)ressilde  sex,  'J'he  fatal  compact 
was  consummated  by  the  victim  registering  his  or  her  name  in 
a  book  or  upon  a  scroll  of  parchment,  and  with  his  own  blood. 
The  form  of  these  contracts  is  nowdiere  preserved.     Sometimes, 


m 


!)0 


NKW-HNCLANI)    LF.dKN'DS. 


il 


as  is  instanced  in  tlic  iR-gotiatiou  between  Oliver  Cromwell  and 
the  Devil  butore  tlie  IJattle  of  Worcester,  llicre  was  a  ^(mmI  deal 
of  ba,u',L;Iiii,i,'.  The  bar^^'ain  ljeinj4  concluded,  Satan  delivered  to 
his  nciW  recruit  an  ini]»  or  familiar  spirit,  winch  soniclinies  iiad 
the  form  of  a  cat,  at  nthers  of  a  mole,  of  a  bird,  of  a  nnllcr-lly,  (ir 
of  some  other  iii!<cct  or  animal.  These  were  to  cume  at  call,  do 
such  mischief  as  they  should  l)c  commanded,  and  at  staled  times 
be  permitted  to  suck  the  wizard's  I)lood.  Fccdin;,',  suckling,  or  rc- 
■vvardin^'  these  imps  was  by  the  law  of  Kngland  declared  Fi:r,o\v. 

Witches,  according  to  popular  belief,  had  the  [lower  to  ride  at 
will  through  the  air  on  a  broomstick  or  a  spit,  to  attend  distant 
meetings  or  sabbaths  of  witches;  but  for  this  purpose  they  must 
first  have  anointed  themselves  witli  a  certain  magical  oiiitiicnt 
given  to  them  by  the  Fieiid.  This  is  neither  more  nor  leys  than 
what  our  forefathers  believed,  what  was  solemnly  incorporated 
into  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  what  was  as  solemnly  preached 
from  the  piUiiit.  A  perusal  of  the  witchcraft  examinations  shows 
us  bow  funuliar  even  children  of  a  tender  age  AV(>re  with  all  the 
forms  of  this  most  fta-midable  and  fatal,  but  yet  ntii  uiuiccount- 
able,  superstition. 

In  the  course  of  thos<!  remarkable  trials  at  Salem,  several  of 
the  accused  persons,  in  order  to  save;  their  lives,  confessed  to  hav- 
ing signed  their  names  m  the  Devil's  book,  to  having  been  Ijap- 
tize<l  by  him,  and  to  having  attended  midnight  meetings  of 
witches,  or  sacraments  held  •Ufion  the  green  near  the  ndnister's 
house,  to  wliicii  they  came  riiling  through  the  air.  They  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  sometimes  appeared  to  them  in  the  form  of 
a  black  dog  or  cat,  sometimes  in  that  of  a  horse,  and  once  as 
"  a  lino  grave  man, '  but  generally  as  a  black  man  of  severe 
aspect.  These  fables  show  the  prevalent  form  of  the  Ixdief 
among  the  people.  It  was  genei  ally  held  to  be  hnpossible  for 
a  witch  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  correctly ;  and  it  is  a  matter  of 
record  that  one  woman,  while  under  examination,  was  put  to 
this  test,  when  it  was  noticed  that  in  one  place  she  substituted 
some  words  of  her  own  for  those  of  the  prayer.  Such  a  failure 
of  memory  was  considered,  even  by  some  learned  judges,  as  a 


IIIK    WITCHCRAFT   TUACiKHV. 


191 


(k'cisive  prout' ot' ^iiilt.  Kvcii  tins  trial  nf  llrrowiii^'  a  witdi  into 
till)  water,  to  sfc  wliL'tlifi'  «lio  NruiiM  sink  or  swim,  was  unco 
niailc  ill  ( 'onnccticiit. 

'I'lio  siM'iK^  oi'  tlic  witclu'raft  outbreak  of  1(51)2  is  an  elevated 
knoll  (pf  nu  ^'reat  extent,  risinj^  among  tlio  shaggy  iiills  and 
spongy  meadows  tliat  lie  at  somo  tlistanco  back  I'nmi  tiie  nmre 
thickly  settleil  part  oi'  the  town  of  Daiivers,  Massa(;hn.selts, 
formerly  Salem  Village.  It  is  indeed  a  quiet  little  neighbor- 
liood  to  liavc!  made  so  much  noise  in  the  world.     Someliow,  on- 


XUE   i'AllSONAG>;,    SALKM    VILLAGE. 


terpriso  avoids  it,  leaving  it,  as  we  see  it  to-day,  cold  and  lifeless. 
The  first  appearance  of  everything  is  so  peaceful,  so  divested  of 
all  hurry  or  excitement,  as  to  suggest  an  hereditary  calm, — a 
pastoral  continued  from  generation  to  generation.  Then,  as  the 
l)urpose  which  has  brought  him  hither  comes  into  his  mind, 
the  visitor  looks  about  him  in  doubt  whetlier  this  can  really 
be  the  localit}''  of  that  fearful  tragedy. 

Yes^  here  are  the  identical  houses  that  were  fetanding  when  those 
unheard-of  events  took  place,  still  solemnly  commemorating  them, 
as  if  doomed  to  stand  eternally.     This  village  street  is  the  same 


m 


192 


NK W-ENGLAN I)   I,K( i KN DH. 


■7 


^^ 


(iM  lii>;li\vay  tliroui^li  Avliich  tlio  droadfiil  infcctioii  sprenil  IVoiii 
house  to  house  unto  th(i  rtunoto  coriiors  of  thi'  ancifut  sliin;,  until, 
as  we  rciiul,  tliere  were  forty  men  nf  Amlover  tliiit 
could  niiso  the  devil  as  well  as  any  aslmln^iT. 
Ih'iii  loo  is  the  sit((  of  tlie  old  jueetin;,'  house,  in 
which  those  amazing  scenes,  the  witclicraft  exami- 
nations, took  place.  A  littlt^  fai'tlur  on  wocome  to 
ihe  spot  of  ground,  as  yet  unbuilt  upon,  wlieie  the 
Parsonage  with  the  lean-to  cliamhcr  stood.  The 
sunken  outlines  of  the  cellar  are  still  to  l)e  s(!en, 
and  even  some  relics  of  the  house  itself  remain 
in  th(^  outbuildings  attai'hed  to  IIk^  Wadswortli 
mansion,  which  overlooks  tlie  "  \Vitch-(!round," 
and  which  was  built  in  the  same  year  that  tlit^ 
old  Parsonage  was  pulhul  down.  ]t  Avas  in  this 
"  ]\unistry  Ilou.se,"  as  it  was  then  called,  that  the 
circle  of  young  girls  met,  whose  denunciations, 
ei|u.valent  to  the  death-warrant  of  the  accused 
pers  in,  soon  overspread  the  land  with  desolation 
and  woe  ;  and  it  was  here  that  the  alleged 
miilnight  convocations  of  witches  mot  to  celebrate 
USED  UY  their  unholy  sacraments,  and  to  renew  their  sol- 
jACOHs  wuKX    i,iiin  league  and  covenant  with  Satan,  in  ili'aughts 

KXKcLTioN       "^'  ^^^•^*^'^  ''^"^^  ^^y  inscribing  their  names  in  his 

fatal  book. 
It  makes  one  sick  at  hv.ixrt  to  think  of  a  cliild  oidy  eleven 
years  old,  such  as  Abigail  Williams  was,  taking  away  the 
lives  of  men  and  women  who  had  always  borne  unblemished 
reputations  among  their  friends  and  neighbors,  l)y  identifying 
them  as  having  attended  these  meetings,  and  of  having  hurt 
this  or  that  person.  These  jioor  creatures  could  scarcely  umler- 
stand  that  they  were  seriously  accused  by  one  so  young  of  a 
crime  made  capital  by  the  law.  But  their  doubts  were  soon 
removed.  Once  they  Avere  accused,  every  man's  hand  was 
against  them.  Children  testified  against  their  own  i)arents, 
husbands    against   their  wives,   wives  against    their  husbands, 


TIIK    WITCIICUAFT    THACEDY. 


193 


ii('i;^'lil)nr  iii,'iiiiist  nci^'liltor.  ( )n()'s  blmiil  altt'iimti'ly  Ixdls  iind 
li-cL'/cs  M'liili'  n-adiii;,'  tli(!  (liiiiiiiiiig  (ividi'iici'  ol'  tlit;  iccditl  to  tlm 
I'iitiil  iulaliuitidii  ut'  tlic  jiid^'L's,  U)  lln-ir  travesty  of  jii.sti(;t',  to  tlicir 
pitiless  persecution  of  the  prisoners  at  the  har,  ami  to  tiie  over- 
mastering terror  that  silenced  tlie  voice  (jf  humanity  in  this 
stricken  eouinniuity.  Panie  reigned  everywhere  supreme.  It  is 
an  amazing  history;  but,  ineredihhs  us  i.  seems,  it  is  yet  all  tiuf. 
AVould  that  it  were  not ! 

The  main  fi;atures  of  those  trials  are  so  familiar  t(»  all,  that  it 
will  <jnly  be  necessary  t(j  refer  to  the  fact  that  some  hundreds 
of  innoc(!nt  persons  were  thrown  iiito  prison,  whih'  twenty  were 
barbarously  executed,  at  the  instance  of  some  young  girls  of  the 
Village,  who  went  into  violent  eonvulsic  !r^,  real  or  pretended,  as 
soon  as  they  were  ennl'ronted  with  the  i)risoners  at  the  bar.  Tlu! 
convictions  were  had  upon  "  spcHitn;  "  evidence,  —  that  is  to  say, 
the  strange  antics  of  the  possessed  girls  were  considered  as  proof 
positive  of  the  criminal  power  ot  witchcraft  in  the  accused,  — 
shown  loo  in  open  court,  —  with  which  they  stood  charged.  The 
statute  assumed  that  this  power  could  only  pro(,"ecd  from  a  famil- 
iarity or  compact  with  the  Evil  Une,  and  ixmished  it  with  death. 
The  evidence,  however,  was  of  two  kinds.  When  interrogated 
by  the  magistrates,  the  girls  hrst  gave  their  evidence  calmly, 
like  ordinary  witnesses  to  the  crinunal  acts,  and  then  went  into 
their  spasms,  -which  all  believed  were  caused  by  the  prisoners. 
Their  incoherent  ravings  and  outcrii's  were  also  taken  as  good 
and  valid  testimony,  and  arc  so  reconled. 

Thes(!  reriarkable  proceedings  are  not,  however,  without  a 
precedent.  'I'he  tragical  story  of  Urbain  (Jrandier  develops  the 
same  characteristics.  His  popularity  as  a  preacher  having  ex- 
cited the  envy  of  the  monks,  they  instigated  some  inins  to  play 
the  part  of  jiersons  possessed,  and  in  their  convulsions  to  charge 
CJrandier  with  being  the  cause  of  their  evil  visitation.  This 
horrible  though  absurd  charge  was  sanctioned  by  Cardinal 
Eichelieu  on  grounds  of  jjcrsonal  dislike.  (Irandier  was  tried, 
condemned,  and  Ijurnt  alive,  A]U'il  18,  103-1,  more  than  half 
a   century    earlier    than    the    j)roceedings   oc  '"-ring   at    Salem. 

13 


194 


NEW-EN(iLAND    LEGENDS. 


Tlioui^li  liutnaiiity  may  woU  revolt  at  the  oxplaiiiition,  the  theory 
of  iinixtsture,  pure  and  simple,  hegun  and  iiiaiiitaiiied  by  these 
girls  of  Salem  Village,  is  the  one  we  turn  from  in  dismay  as  a 
thing  not  iudeeil  i)roved,  or  even  admitted,  but  as  a  haunting 
probability  that  will  not  down  at  our  bidding. 


GILES   COREY,   THE   WIZARD. 

UXDOTBTEDLY  the  most  dramatic  incident  of  this  carni- 
val of  death  was  the  trial  and  execution  of  (iiles  Corey, 
who,  seeing  the  fate  of  all  those  who  had  preceded  him,  stul)- 
bornly  refused  to  plead  ;  and,  to  vindicate  the  majesty  of  tlu;  law 
he  had  thus  delied,  he  was  condemned  to  the  atrocious  peine  forte 
et  dure  of  the  Dark  Ages.  Tlie  incredible  sentence  was  carried 
out  to  the  letter;  and  this  miserable  prisoner,  Avhilc  yet  a  liv- 
ing and  breathing  man,  was  actually  crushed  to  death  under 
the  pressure  of  heavy  weights.  This  is  the  only  instance  of 
such  a  punishment  being  inflicted  in  New  England.  We 
shudder  to  record  it. 

lentil  the  appearance  of  ^Ir.  Longfellow's  "  Xew  England 
Tragedies,"  there  had  been  no  serious  attemi)t  to  make  use  of 
tliis  sinister  chapter  for  any  other  pur[)ose  than  that  of  impartial 
history.  I\)ets  ami  novelists  seem  alike  to  have  shunned  it. 
The  man  to  whom  all  eyes  would  naturally  be  turneil,  was  de- 
scended from  one  of  the  most  implacable  of  the  juilges,  —  tiie 
one,  in  fact,  who  had  delivered  the  horrible  sentence  of  the  (;ourt 
in  the  ease  of  Giles  Corey.  In  the  dramatic  version  the  poet 
makes  him  say  :  — 

Ghosts  of  the  dead  and  voices  of  the  living 
Bear  witness  to  your  guilt,  and  you  must  die  ! 
It  might  liave  been  an  easier  death  ;  your  doom 
Will  be  on  your  own  head,  and  not  on  ours. 
Twice  more  will  you  be  (piestioned  of  these  things. 
Twice  more  have  room  to  i)U'ad  or  to  confess. 


(IILES    COKEY,   THE    WIZARD. 

It'yovi  are  coiitiiiiuicious  to  tlu'  Court, 
Aiul  ir  wliuu  (questioned  you  refuse  to  answer, 
Tlu'U  by  the  statute  you  will  be  coudenmed 
To  the  peine  forle  d  dare!  — to  have  your  body 
Pressed  by  ,^•reat  wei-lits  until  you  shall  be  dead  ! 
And  may  the  Lord  iiave  mercy  on  your  soul ! 


195 


Ow'uv^  to  the  prisoner's  indomitable  attitude  before  his  judges, 
l)ut  few  incidents  of  this  extraordinary  trial,  or  mockery  of  one, 
remain.  The  heroic  figure  of  tlus  old  man  of  eighty  confront- 
ing judges  and  accusers  in  stoical  silence  is,  however,  uni«|ue  in 
its"  grandeur.  From  tliis  moment  lie  becomes  their  peer.  Even 
theV"'t's  art  could  add  nothing  to  the  simple  recital  of  the  elo- 
(pient  fact.  But  such  an  act  of  sublime  heroism  is  also  deeply 
pathetic.  Neitlier  the  anathema  of  the  Church,  the  doom  pro- 
nounced upon  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  the  solemn  warnings  of 
his  judges,  thrice  repeated,  nor  the  prospect  of  an  ignominious 
death  couhl  unseal  the  lips  of  old  Giles  Corey,  obscure  husband- 
man though  he  was.  This  amazing  fortitude  wrung  from  his 
enemies  the  title  of  the  ^lan  of  Iron.  His  was  one  of  the  last 
of  the  murders  committed  in  the  name  of  the  law,  and  Avitli  him 
was  thus  cashed  out  the  delusion  of  which  lie  uniiuestionably 
was  the  most  remarkable  victim. 

The  anonymous  ballad,  written  in  the  old  manner,  and  in  an 
ironical  vein,  perpetuates  the  cruel  history  as  concisely  and  as 
truthfully  as  the  prose  accounts  do  :  — 

Giles  Corey  was  a  Wizzard  strong, 

A  stubboru  wretch  was  he  ; 
And  fitt  was  he  to  hang  on  high 

Upon  the  Locust-tree. 


I 


So  when  before  the  magistrates 

For  triall  he  did  come. 
He  woidd  no  true  confession  make, 

But  was  conipleatlie  dumbe. 


ill 


!.f 


;^9(^  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"Giles  Corey,"  said  the  Magistrate, 

"  Wluit  luist  tlnni  liearc  to  pleade 
To  these  that  now  accuse  thy  soule 

01'  crimes  and  horrid  deed  I  " 

Giles  Corey,  he  said  not  a  worde, 

No  single  worde  spoke  he. 
"  Giles  Corey,"  saith  the  Magistrate, 

"  We  'U  press  it  out  of  thee." 

They  got  them  then  a  heavy  beam, 

They  laid  it  on  his  breast ; 
They  loaded  it  with  Ijeavy  stones, 

And  hard  upon  him  prest. 

*'  More  weight !  "  now  said  this  wretched  man  ; 

"  More  weight  I  "  again  he  cried  ; 
And  he  did  no  confession  make, 

But  wickedly  he  dyed. 

The  tradition  was  long  current  in  Salem  that  at  stated  periods 
tho  ghost  of  Corey  the  wizard  appeared  on  the  spot  where  ho 
had  sulfered,  as  the  precursor  oi  some  calamity  that  was  impend- 
ing over  tho  community,  which  the  apparition  came  to  announce. 
His  shade,  however,  has  long  since  ceased  to  revisit "  tlic  glimpses 
of  the  moon,"  and  to  do  duty  as  a  bugbear  to  frighten  unruly 
children  into  obedience  ;  but  tho  memory  of  this  darkest  deed 
in  New  England's  annals  is  a  ])hantoni  that  will  not  be  laid. 


m ' 


THE  BELL  TAVERN  MYSTERY. 

THE  15ell  Tavern  was  a  liouse  for  the  entertaimupnt  of  man 
and  beast  situate.l  in  the  town  of  Danvers,  fronting  the 
hi-hroad  running  through  th.>  village,  an<l  thus  connecting 
its  movement  and  its  events  with  the  rest  of  the  world.     So 


THE    BELL   TAVERN    MYSTERY. 


long  ajjo  as  it  was  the  King's  own  highway,  this  road  was  the 
great  artery  of  New  England,  through  which  the  hh)od  of  its 
connuerce,  so  to  speak,  flowed  to  and  from  tlie  heart  of  its 
capital,  lioston.  Boston  Stone  was  then  the  central  millinrium 
IVdUi  wliich  the  diverging  sections  ran  north  and  ran  south  into 
tlie  most  remote  parts  of  the  Colonies,  —  on  the  south  to  the 
Canilinas,  and  to  the  Kennebec  settlements  on  the  north.  The 
JU;HTavern,  being  therefore  exactly  in  the  great  current  of  travel 
as  well  as  of  events,  has  naturally  a  history  of  its  cwn. 

The  sign  of  the  tavern  was  a  wooden  bell,  suspended  to  the 
crossbeam  of  a  post  before  the  door,  with  this  couplet  und(;r- 
neath  :  — 

I  '11  toll  you  in  if  you  have  need, 
And  feed  you  well  and  bid  you  speed. 

When  the  reader  knows  that  within  the  limits  of  Danvers, 
while  it  was  yet  a  precinct  of  Salem,  the  witchcraft  tragedies 
were  enacted  ;  that  General  Israel  Putnam  was  born  here  ;  that  on 
its  borders  is  the  remarkable  natural  curiosity  known  as  Ship 
Piock  ;  and  that  it  is  the  usual  v-  sidence  of  the  venerable  poet  and 
philanthropist,  Whittier,  — he  will  see  so  many  reasons  for  spend- 
ing some  hours  in  the  place,  should  he  ever  chance  to  be  in  the 
neighborhood.  Put  he  will  no  longer  tind  the  Bell  Tavern 
there.  That  has  disappeared,  although  its  traditions  are  still 
m<ist  scrupulously  preserved.     Let  us  recount  one  of  them. 

T'he  Bell  was  for  some  time  the  residence  of  Elizabeth 
Whitman,  whose  singular  story,  under  the  fictitious  name  of 
Eliza  Wharton,  excited,  forty  odd  years  ago,  the  sensibilities  of 
thousands.  In  this  house  she  died  ;  and  such  was  the  desire  of 
many  to  obtain  some  memento  of  her,  that  even  the  stones 
erected  over  her  grave  were  near  being  carried  away  piecemeal. 
When  I  last  visited  the  spot  where  she  lies,  the  path  leading 
to  it  was,  to  judge  from  appearances,  the  one  in  the  old  ground 
oftenest  traversed.  This  is  not  strange,  for  even  in  winter,  after 
a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  the  path  has  been  kept  open  by  the  feet  of 
the  morbidly  curious.     I  expected  to  read  upon  the  headsto 


if 


'1 


r- 


Ml 


' 


!  Ml 

! 

1 

i 

i 

1 

198 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


the  words,  "  Good  peojde,  pray  for  lier,  she  died  for  love."  But, 
as  1  have  said,  the  stone  had  been  ca'  '  1'  nearly  entire.  The 
following  letter,  found  after  her  ihain  among  her  elfects,  is, 
however,  at  once  the  history  and  the  epitaph  of  this  most  bril- 
liant and  gifted,  yet  most  unfortunate,  of  ])eings.  After  reading 
it,  let  him  who  is  without  sin  cast  the  hrst  stone  upon  her 
memory  :  — 

"  Must  I  die  alone  ?  Shall  I  never  see  you  more  ?  I  know  that 
you  will  come,  but  you  will  come  too  late.  This  is,  I  fear,  my  last 
ability.  Tears  fall  so,  I  know  not  how  to  writi'.  Why  did  you  leave 
me  in  so  much  distress  I  lUit  I  will  not  reproach  you.  All  that  Avas 
dear  1  left  for  you  ;  but  I  do  not  regret  it.  May  God  forgive  in  both 
what  was  amiss.  When  I  go  from  hence,  1  will  leave  you  some  way 
to  find  me  ;  if  I  die,  will  you  come  and  drop  a  tear  over  my  grave  /" 

In  the  month  of  June,  1788,  a  chaise  in  which  were  two 
persons,  a  man  and  a  woman,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  IJell 
Tavern.  The  woman  alighteil  and  entered  the  house.  Her 
companion  immediately  drove  oft',  and  was  never  agah>  seen  in 
the  village.  It  may  be  easily  guessed  that  the  very  last  place 
for  seclusion  or  mystery  was  a  Xcw  England  village  of  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  since  the  entire  population  regarded  even  the 
presence  among  them  of  an  unknown  person  with  suspicion ; 
while  any  attempt  at  mystitication  Avas  in  elf(!ct  a  spur  to  the 
curiosity  of  every  idle  gossip,  far  and  near.  In  self-protection 
the  laws  of  hospitality  as  to  the  stranger  were  reversed.  To  this 
spirit  of  exclusiveness  we  doubtless  owe  the  national  trait  of  iii- 
quisitiveness  so  often  ascribed  to  us.  Such,  however,  Avas  the 
spirit  of  the  laws  under  which  these  communities  had  groAvn  uj). 
It  is  true  that  the  stranger  Avas  not  required  to  shoAV  his  pass- 
port ;  but  as  he  valued  his  oAvn  ease,  on  no  account  must  he 
betray  any  reticence  concerning  himself  or  his  affairs.  At  the 
entrance  of  each  village,  as  one  might  say,  an  invisible  but 
Avatchful  sentinel  cried  out :  "  "Who  comes  there  ] "  Should  the 
stranger  happen  to  have  his  secret  to  guard,  so  much  the  worse 
for  him. 


THE    BKLL    TAVEUN    MYSTERY. 


199 


Tlie  unknown  guest  of  the  Boll  —  about  whom  evorything  — 
her  beauty,  grace  of  manner  and  address,  announced  her  to 
l)e  a  person  accustomed  to  the  society  of  peoijle  above  the 
ordinary  condition  of  life  —  desired  most  of  all  to  bo  unno- 
ticed .md  unmolested.  She  desired  this  for  peculiar  reasons. 
Each  day  her  life  steadily  darkened ;  every  hour  was  Ijring- 
iug  her  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  crisis  of  her  destiny  ;  every 
moment  was  an  hour  of  terror  and  remorse.  It  was  necessary, 
however,  to  give  some  account  of  herself,  or  else  suspii^on  and 
calumny  would  soon  be  busy  with  her  reputation.     .She  there- 


TIIK    BELL,    FROM    AN   OI,D    PKINT. 


fore  represented  that  she.  was  married,  and  that  her  husband 
would  soon  join  her.  To  help  her  story  —  for  she,  poor  soul, 
fancied  that  the  thin  stratagem  would  make  all  soem  right  —  she 
laid  a  letter,  written  and  atldressed  by  liorsolf,  upon  her  table, 
where  her  inquisitive  neighbors  woidd  be  certain  to  see  and 
to  read  the  superscription.  ITcr  days  were  passed  at  the  window 
watching  for  some  on(^  who  did  not  come.  One  easily  imagines 
what  her  nights  must  have  been.  Once  a  man  who  went 
througli  the  village  was  observed  to  stop  1)efore  the  tavern  and 
attentively  read  the  name  that  the  "  beautiful  strange  lady  "  had 


r   . 


200 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


;    !. 


written  on  lier  dtxjr  as  a  moans  of  recognition.  lUit  ■when  he 
passed  on  without  entering  the  house,  she  was  heard  to  exclaim, 
"Oh,  I  am  undone  !" 

It  will  be  supposetl  that  the  mysterious  recluse  of  the  Bell 
Tavern  soon  became  the  object  of  intense  curiosity  to  the  people 
of  the  village.  Tliey  saw  lier  sitting  at  her  window,  sometimes 
whiling  away  the  heavy  hours  with  her  guitar,  or  else  busily 
plying  her  needle  "  in  a  mournful  muse."  When  she  went  out, 
old  and  young,  attracted  Ijy  her  graceful  form  and  presence, 
turned  to  look  after  her  as  she  walked.  But  as  the  months 
wore  on,  the  secret  motive  for  her  seclusion  could  no  longer  be 
concealed.  Yet  the  one  whose  coming  was  the  single  hope  left 
to  her  despairing  soul  abandoned  her  to  bear  all  the  odium  of 
her  situation  alone.  In  this  hour  of  bitterest  trial  —  of  two- 
fold desertion  and  <langer  —  she  found,  however,  one  sympa- 
thizing and  womanly  heart  couiageous  enough  to  take  the 
friendless,  forlorn  Elizabeth  into  her  own  home  and  to  nurse 
her  tenderly.  Tlicre  this  wretched  mother  gave  birth  to  a  dead 
infant,  and  there,  after  a  short  illness,  she  died.  The  letter  with 
whicli  this  sad  story  is  prefaced  was  doulitless  penned  uj)on  her 
death-bed ;  yet  in  tliis  hour  of  agony  she,  with  rare  fidelity,  pre- 
served the  incognito  of  her  hearthiss  lover  to  the  last  ;  and  what 
is  rarer  still,  granted  him,  from  lier  soul,  a  full  and  free  pardon 
for  the  sacrilice  of  her  honor  and  life.  I>ut  this  pardon  should 
have  been  his  peri)etual  remorse.  Tliese  are  the  closing  lines  of 
some  verses  the  poor  girl  destined  for  his  eye.  It  will  be  seen 
that  her  last  words  w^ere  those  of  forgiveness  and  undying  love  :  — 


O  tliou !  for  whose  dear  sake  I  bear 
A  doom  so  dreadful,  so  severe. 
May  happy  fates  thy  footsteps  guide. 
And  o'er  tliy  peaceful  home  preside. 

Nor  let  E a'a  early  tomb 

Infect  thee  with  its  baleful  gloom." 

An  unknown  hand  erected  a  stone  over  her  grave  with  this 
inscription  :  — 


THE    I51:LL     I'AVKiJN'    MYSTF.RV, 


201 


"  This  humble  stone,  in  memory  of  Elizaljcth  Wliitmiin,  is  ins(;iil)e(.l 
by  her  weepin;,'  riien<ls,  to  wlioni  siie  endeared  lierself  liy  unconinidu 
tenderness  and  ufl'ection.  Endowed  with  superior  f,'enius  iuid  iuupiire- 
ments,  slie  was  still  more  endeared  by  hiiniilit\-  and  benevoh^nce. 
Let  candor  throw  a  veil  over  hei'  fndlties,  lor  great  was  Iier  charity 
to  others.  Slie  -iustaine(l  the  last  painl'id  scene  fai'  IVoni  every  friend, 
and  exhibited  an  exanijile  of  calui  resignation.  Her  departure  was 
on  the  'Jjlli  of  July,  a.  d.  17SS,  in  the  ^Tth  year  of  her  age,  and  the 
tears  of  strangers  watered  her  grave.'' 

One  would  only  wish  to  add  to  this  :  She  "loved,  not  wisely, 
but  too  well." 


! 


"putt  iFift!)» 


MARBLEHEAD    LEGENDS. 


nil 


:      > 


ENUICOTT's  sun-dial;    UliSlUNS   FUOM  OLD   MONKY. 


MARBLEHEAD:   THE  TOWN. 


"^yEXT  to  S\vuinp.sc(jtt  comes  Mavblehciul.  C^iiiiiiite.st  ami 
-i-^  most  (lilapidiitoil  of  scajxn'ts,  one  can  hardly  knock  at 
any  door  without  oncountcring  a  legend  or  a  liistcjry.  Indeed 
that  idea  comes  uppermost  on  kioking  around  you.  Yet  the 
atmosphere  is  not  oppressive,  nor  are  the  suggestions  ghostly. 
Far  otherwise  ;  you  are  sim[)ly  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation. 

Thanks  to  fortuitous  causes,  Marblehead  retains  more  of  the 
characteristic  flavor  of  the  past  than  any  town  in  New  England. 
And  here  one  can  revel  in  its  memories  unchecked,  seeing  .so 
little  to  remind  liim  of  the  present.  Look  at  the  great  body  of 
old  houses  still  cijniposing  it !  There  is  no  mistaking  the  era  to 
which  they  belong.  Once  among  them,  one  takes  a  long  stride 
backward  into  another  century,  and  is  even  doubtful  if  he  should 
stop  there.  They  are  as  antiquated  as  the  garments  our  great- 
grandfathers wore,  and  as  little  In  accord  with  modern  ideas ;  and 
yet  th(>y  were  very  comfortable  dwellings  in  their  day,  and  liave 
even  now  a  home-like  look  of  solid,  thougli  unpretending,  thiift. 
They  in  fixct  indicate  a  republic  of  eipiality,  if  Jiot  one  of  high 
social  or  intellectual  refinement.  "SVe  ex])ect  to  see  .sailors  in 
pigtails,  citizens  in  periwigs,  and  women  in  kerchiefs  and  liobnail 
shoes,  all  speaking  an  unintelligible  jargon,  and  all  laying  violent 


ilfi 


li 


206 


N k\v-i;n'(  ; la n  i »  lik  ; i:n ds. 


il 


tonj,qi('s  on  tlif  King's  Kugllsh.  We  arc  conscious  of  a  certiiin  in- 
(iongniity  between  ourselves  and  tills  denioeracy,  wliicli  is  not  at 
ill!  (lisayreoable  to  us,  nor  disiiiu'ii.niuL;  to  tliiit. 

Thi'y  Imvc  cuvereil  a  luirc  and  uncouth  duster  of  gray  Itulgcs 
witii  houses,  and  called  it  Marhleliead.  Tlioso  ledges  stick  out 
everywhere  ;  there  is  not  enougli  s(til  to  cover  them  decently. 
The  original  gullies  intersecting  these  ledges  were  turned  into 
thoroughfares,  wliich  meander  about  after  a  most  lawless  and 
inscrutable  fishion.  '("he  jjrincipal  graveyard  is  situate(l  on  the 
toj»  of  a  rocky  hill,  where  iho  dead  mariners  might  lie  within 
sound  of  the  sea  they  loved  so  well.  And  wc;  learn  that  it  was 
clioson  because  it  was  a  "  sightly  place."  I5ut  in  general  the 
dead  fare  no  better  than  the  living,  they  being  tucked  away  in 
odd  corners,  here  on  a  hill  top,  there  in  a  hollow,  the  headstones 
seeming  always  a  part  of  the  ledges  iilxive  which  tliey  rise  in 
straggling  groups,  stark,  gray,  and  bent  with  age,  intensifying 
a  thousand-fold  the  pervading  feeling  of  sadness  and  loneliness 
associated  with  such  i)laces. 

One  street  carries  us  along  with  the  present ;  the  other  "wliisks 
us  back  into  the  past  again.  We  dive  into  a  lane,  and  bring  up 
in  a  blind  alley  without  egress.  Does  any  one  know  the  way 
here,  we  question  1  We  see  a  crooked  crack  separating  rows  of 
liouses,  and  then  read  on  a  signboard  that  it  is  such  or  such  a 
street.  In  an  hour  we  look  upon  the  whole  topography  of  the 
place  as  a  jest. 

Now  and  then  the  mansion  of  some  Colonial  nabob  —  ]>erhap:: 
a  colonel  or  a  magistrate  —  has  secured  for  itself  a  little  breath- 
ing space ;  but  in  general  the  liouses  crowd  upon  ami  elbow  each 
other  in  **  most  admired  disorder.'"  The  wonder  is  that  they 
built  here  at  all,  the  site  was  so  unpronnsing;  but  the  harbor  was 
good,  there  was  room  to  dry  fish,  and  the  sailor-settlers  looked 
upon  the  sea,  and  not  the  shore,  as  being  their  home.  80  that 
AUerton's  rough  fellows,  who  in  1G33  made  their  rude  cabins  on 
the  harbor's  edge,  were  not  looking  for  farms,  but  for  codfish. 

After  looking  over  the  town  a  while,  one  comes  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  first-comers  must  have  tossed  up  coppers  —  always 


MAltlSLKlIKAD-   THK   TOWN. 


207 


a  favorite-  iiastimo  hero  —  I'nr  llio  chuiw,  of  building-lots,  uiul 
tlieii  liavc  mado  tlioir  selection  roj^ardless  of  surveyor's  linos. 
As  a  (:onsc(iuenco,  Marblehead  is  piotures(iue,  but  biiwildorinj^'. 
It  has  a  plaoid  little  harbor,  indented  byiuiniaturo  cuvos,  lij^'hted 
by  a  diminutive  lighthouse,  and  <l(dended  by  a  disnianthid  fort- 
ress without  a  j^sirrison.  lUindfold  a  stranger,  bring  him  to 
Marblehead,  and  then  remove  the  Ijaudago,  and  ho  woidd  eor- 
tainly  exelaini,  "'niis  is  in  the  Orkneys,  or  tho  Hebrides  !  " 

'I'his    is  what   a  glanee  reveals.    We   liave    said    that    nearly 
every  dwelling  has  its    story.      It   is    probable    that    no    otluu' 
spot  of  ground  in    the    ( 'cdonies  was   so  [leeuliarly  aoi.pted   to 
the  growth  of  the  marvedlous  as  this.     The  men,  and  tho  jjoys 
too,  as  soon  as  they  were  able  to  handle  an  oar,  followed  tho  sea, 
while  the   wt)mon   did  most  ot  the  shore  work,  taking  care  of 
and  curing  tho  lish,  as  they  do  to-day  in  Newfoundland.     So 
that  in  tho  fishing  season  the  place  was  nearly  as  destitute  "f 
men  as  tho  fabidous  island  tliat  good  old  Peter  Martyr  tells  abc)Ut 
in  his  wonderful  "  Decades."    That  good  and  true  man,  the  liev- 
erend  John  Barnard,  tho  patriarch  and  good  genius  of  tho  place, 
tcills  us  that  when  he  lirst  went  to  Marblohead  there  was  no  such 
tiling  as  a  proper  carpenter,  or  mason,  or  tailor,  or  butcher  in 
tho  place  ;  all  were  lishermen.     And  this  was  seventy  or  eighty 
years    after  settlement  l)ogan  here.      For  half  a  century  there 
was  no  settled  minister  ;  and  for  abnit  tho  same  term  of  years 
no  schoolmaster.     To  this  day  no  one  knows  the  antecedents 
of  these  iishermeu,  or  from  whence   they  came.     Certain   it  is 
that  they  wore  no  part  of  the  Puritan  emigration  around  thorn  ; 
for  all  accounts  agree  in  styling  them  a  rude,  ignon    t,  lawless, 
and  profligate  set,   squandering  with  habitual  recklessness  tho 
gains  of  each  hazardous  voyage.    Notorious  pirates  openly  walked 
the  streets  ;  smuggling  was  carried  on  like  any  legitimate  occupa- 
tion.    In  a  word,  a  community  going  back  to  as  early  a  day 
as  any  here  had   grown  \\\)  in  the  same  way  that  the  fishing- 
stations  of  Newfoundland  were  gradually  turncid  into  permanent 
settlements,  having  almost  no  law  and  (!ven  less  religion,  until  a 
missionary  appeared  in  the  person  of  the  Reverend  John  Barnard. 


i 


'r^ 


m 


\ 


\\ 


1 1 

I; 

i\ 

i 
1 
1 

h^ 

1 

Ul. 

208 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


TliL'  history  thou  clmugosj.  In  resjxH't  to  public  and  private 
luomls,  Mai'blehoad  \va«  really  a  littli;  Nowfonndlaiul ,  and  it  is 
UKUu  than  probable,  everything  being  ctnisidered,  that  its  settle- 
ment may  be  legitimately  referred  to  this  island,  — the  home  of 
a  strietly  seafaring  and  sea-subsisting  people,  living  half  of  the 
time  ailoat,  anil  half  on  shore. 

As  for  the  women,  when  we  read  that  on  a  certain  Sabbath-day 
two  hostile  Indians,  tlieu  held  as  prisoners  in  the.  town,  were 
"  by  the  women  of  Marblehead,  as  they  came  out  of  the  meeting- 
house," tuuudtuously  set  upon  and  very  bar])arous]y  runrdered, 
one  easily  imagines  what  the  men  were  like,  —  and  the  children 
too,  of  wh(jm  it  is  soberly  said  that  they  wei'e  as  i)rofane  as  their 
fathers.  When  a  stranger  appeared  in  tlie  streets  they  were  in 
the  habit  of  pelting  liin)  with  stones.  All  this  prepares  us 
for  the  appearance  of  John  and  ^hiry  Dimond  ri.5  Liie  legitimate 
outgrowth  of  such  a  place,  and  for  those  singular  customs,  and 
the  still  more  singular  sjx'ech,  whicli  two  centuries  could  not 
wholly  eradicate.  Marblehead,  it  is  quite  clear,  was  neither 
part  nor  jjarcel  of  the  Piu'ilan  CommouAvealth  in  any  strict 
sense  of  the  term.     It  was  and  is  uni(jue. 

Apropos  of  this  state  of  society,  although  they  may  ])Ut  the 
reader's  creilulity  to  a  harder  test  than  is  usual,  let  us  give  one 
or  two  examples  of  olden  superstition,  in  order  to  place  him 
more  or  less  in  accord  with  thi^  spirit  of  tiie  times  to  which  our 
poets  and  our  novelists  hav(.'  given  so  much  attention.  It  will 
readily  be  seen  that  there  is  little  need  to  have  recourse  to  the 
imagination  ;  truth  is  indeed  stranger  than  fiction. 

The  l)elief  that  it  is  a  good  omen  to  see  tli(^  now  moon  over 
one's  right  shoulder  is  .still  universal.  Yet  this  is  merely  a  relic 
of  ancient  superstition,  altlumgh  few,  perhaps,  would  be  willing 
to  admit  that  it  had  any  influence,  either  direct  or  indirect,  upon 
their  future  welfare.  But  our  iorefathers  thought  otherwise. 
Among  the  early  chronicles  of  Lynn  is  one  giving  an  account  of 
" an  honest  old  man  "  who,  "as  it  liegan  to  l)e  darkish,"  went 
out  to  look  for  the  new  moon,  when  he  espied  in  tlie  west 
a  strange  black  cloud,  in  which  presently  appeared  a  conii)lete 


MAUBLEIIKAD:    THE   TOWN. 


209 


man-at-arms,  standing  witli  his  legs  a  little  apart,  ami  holding 
his  pike  thrown  across  his  breast  in  a  most  martial  attitude. 
The  man  then  called  his  wife  and  others  to  behold  this  marvel. 
After  a  while  the  man  in  tlie  cUruI  vanished  ;  but  he  was  imnie- 
♦liately  succeeded  by  tlie  apparition  of  a  stately  ship  under  full 
sail,  although  she  remained  stationaiy  in  the  heavens.  The 
black  hull,  the  lofty  stern,  the  brightly  gleaming  .sails,  the  taper- 
ing mast,  from  which  a  long  resj)lendent  pennon  streamed,  were 
as  plainly  distinguished  as  were  those  of  the  ships  then  riding  in 
the.  harbor.  "  This,"  in  the  words  of  the  narrative,  "  was  seen 
for  a  great  space,  both  by  these  and  others  of  ye  .same  town." 

The  good  old  English  custom  of  saluting  tlie  ni'w  moon  with 
the  following  proi)itiatory  address,  to  which  the  "  pale  goddess  " 
•was  supposed  to  give  ear,  — 

All  linil  to  the  .Moon!  all  liail  to  thee  ! 
I  prythee,  good  Moon,  reveal  to  me 
This  night  who  my  liusband  must  be, — 

had  its  counter])art  in  Marblehead,  where,  on  the  nights  when  a 
new  moon  was  to  ap[)ear,  the  umuarried  young  Avomen  would 
congregate  at  some  liou.ses  in  the  neighborhood  for  the.  purpo.se 
of  iiaving  a  peep  into  f  iturity  ;  and  after  hanging  a  huge  pot  of 
tallow  on  the  crane  over  tin;  blazing  logs,  would  then  drop,  one 
by  one,  iron  hob-nails  into  the  boiling  fat,  in  tlie  linn  belief  that 
the  young  man  who  should  come  in  while  this  charm  was  work- 
ing would  inevitably  be  the  future  husband  of  the  fair  one  who 
droppetl  the  nails. 

At  other  times  the  young  woman  who  had  a  longing  to  pry  into 
the  unknown  would  go  to  an  upper  window  of  the  house,  and 
when  no  one  saw  her  would  throw  a  ball  of  yarn  into  the  street, 
in  the  belief  that  the  lucky  youth  who  iirsl  picked  it  up  was  the 
man  she  would  marry.  All  Ih.e  terrors  of  the  laws  against  it  could 
not  prevent  women  from  trying  the  eihcacy  of  magical  art  in  elu- 
cidating the,  to  them,  mo.st  interesting  of  all  questions.  In  tho.se 
"  gootl  old  times  "  a  wedding  was  a  season  of  nnrestrain(;d  merry- 
making for  a  whole  week  together.     Little  ceremony  was  used. 

14 


W  '  1 


I 
I  I 


ll> 


210 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Everybody  who  chose  iniglit  attcrul,  and  when,  at  a  late  hour,  tlie 
guests  were  ready  to  depart,  the  hi'ide  and  groom  being  lirst  i)ut 
to  bod,  the  entire  company,  regardless  of  the  blushes  or  screams  of 
the  bride,  marehed  round  the;  nuptial  couch,  throwing  old  shoes, 
stockings,  and  other  missiles  of  established  potency  in  sucb  cases, 
at  the  newly  wedded  coui)le,  by  way  of  bringing  them  good  luck. 

"  Stories  of  phantom  ships  seen  at  sea  before  the  loss  of  a  ves- 
sel, of  the  ai>pearancc  on  the  water  of  loved  ones  who  had  died 
at  home,  of  footsteps  and  voices  heard  mysteriously  in  the  still 
hours  of  the  night  and  coming  as  warnings  from  another  world, 
of  signs  and  omens  which  foretold  the  approaching  death  of 
some  member  of  the  family,  or  prophecies  whispered  by  the 
winds,  tliat  those  who  were  away  on  the  mighty  deep  would  find 
a  watery  grave,"  were  interwoven  with,  and  allowed  to  have  an 
active  influence  upon,  the  lives  of  these  peoi)le. 

Such  a  place  would  as  a  matter  of  course  have  its  part  in  the 
"Terror"  of  1()92,  ^ — -the  fatal  witchcraft  delusion.  The  witch 
of  Marblehead  was  an  old  crone  by  the  name  of  Wilniot  IJedd 
(or  Ji'eed),  but  more  generally  known  and  feared  as  "  ^Mammy 
Redd,  the  witcdi."  This  woman  was  believed  to  possess  the 
power  of  malignant  tiuich  and  sight,  and  she  was  able,  so  it  was 
whispered,  to  cast  a  spell  over  those  whom  she  miglit  in  her  ma- 
levolence wish  to  injure.  To  some  she  sent  sickness  and  <leath, 
by  merely  wishing  that  a  "  liloody  cleaver"  miglit  be  found  in 
the  cradle  t)f  their  infant  children.  Upon  others  she  vented  her 
spite  by  visiting  them  with  such  petty  annoyances  as  occur  — 

When  brass  and  pewter  hap  to  stniy. 
And  biii'U  slinks  out  of  tlie  way; 
AN'hen  geese  and  [>ullou  are  seduced, 
And  sows  of  sucking  pigs  are  choused  ; 
Wlicii  cattle  feel  indisposition. 
And  neinl  the  opinion  of  i)h ysician  ; 
Wlien  murrain  reigns  in  hogs  or  sheep, 
And  chickens  languish  of  the  pip  ; 
When  yeast  and  outward  means  do  fail, 
And  have  no  jiowcr  to  work  on  ale  ; 
When  butter  does  refuse  to  come, 
A.nd  love  proves  cross  and  luiniorsonu'. 


TIIH    SIIUTHKINC    WOMAN. 


211 


Among  other  diabolical  arts,  — 

01(1  Mammy  Redd, 
Of  MarLleheud, 
Sweet  milk  couM  turn 
To  mould  in  churn. 

She  could  curdle  it  as  it  came  fresh  from  the  cow's  udders, 
or  couhl  presently  ehange  it  into  "blue  wool,"  which  wo  take  to 
be  another  name  for  blue  mould.  She  was  tried  and  convicted, 
chiefly  on  old  wives'  gabble,  and  expiated  on  the  gallows  the 
evil  fam(!  that  she  had  acquired. 

To  this  fact  of  history,  in  which  the  actors  appear  testifying 
under  oath  to  their  own  su})erstitious  beliefs,  we  may  now 
add  one  of  those  local  legends  undoubtedly  growing  out  of  the 
frecpient  intercourse  had  with  the  free  rovers  of  tl;o  main. 
Among  these  freebooters  it  was  a  law,  the  cruel  policy  of  which 
is  obvious,  that  every  woman  who  might  become  their  prisoner 
should  sulfer  death.  The  legend  is  perhaps  no  more  than  the 
echo  of  one  of  these  trauedies. 


THE   SHRIEKTNCI    WOMAN. 

IT  was  said  that  during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  a  Spaiush  ship  laden  with  rich  merchandise  wa.; 
captured  by  pirates,  who  brought  their  prize  into  the  Harbor  of 
^hirblchead.  The  crew  and  every  person  on  board  the  ill-foted 
ship  had  been  butchered  in  cold  blood  at  the  time  of  the  cap- 
ture, except  a  beautiful  Engli;--h  lady,  whom  the  ruffi.  [.,3  brouglit 
on  shore  near  what  is  now  called  Oa'.um  Bay,  and  tl v"^  under 
cover  of  the  night,  most  barbarously  nrtrdcred  her.  The  few 
fishermen  who  iidiabited  the  phice  vvere  then  absent,  and  the 
women  and  children  who  remained,  could  do  nothing  to  prevent 
the  consummation  of  the  fearful  crime.     The  piercing  screams 


|iw-     ( 


^VHPH 


212 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


'!i!f 


of  the  victim  were  most  iippalling,  uml  li(!r  cries  ol'  "  Lunl,  save 
mo!  Mercy!  O  Lord  Jesus,  save  lue  '  "  wore  distinctly  liea 
in  tiie  silence  of  the  iiiglit.  The  body  was  buried  on  the  sjjoL 
where  the  deed  was  p''r])etrated,  and  for  over  viw  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  on  each  anniversary  of  that  <lreadful  tragedy,  the 
heartrending  screams  of  the  murdei'ed  woman  for  mercy  were 
repciated  in  a  voice  so  shrill  and  unearthly  as  to  freeze  the  blood 
of  those  who  heard  them. 

This  logenil  is  so  firmly  rooted  in  Mai-hlehead,  that  Poly- 
])henms  himself  coidd  not  tear  it  from  the  soil.  Even  the  iiKJst 
intelligent  pcopli>  have  admitted  their  full  belief  in  it ;  and  one 
of  the  most  learned  Jurists  of  his  time,  who  was  native  hcr(>, 
and  to  tlie  manner  born,  avern.'d  that  In;  had  heard  those  ill- 
omened  shrieks  again  and  again  in  the  still  hours  of  the  night. 

To  this  local  episode  the  following  narrative  of  piracy  in  its 
palmiest  days  seems  the  a])propriate  pendant. 


THE    STRANCIE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

A8HT0N. 

"pillLIP  A8HT0X  was  a  young  Marblehead  iisherman,  who, 
J-  with  other  townsmen  of  his,  was,  in  the  month  of  June, 
1722,  quietly  pursuing  his  legitimate  calling  upon  the  fishing- 
grounds  lying  iA\'  Cape  Sable.  It 
being  Friday,  he  and  his  mates 
hoisted  sail  and  stood  in  for  I'ort 
lloseway,  meaning  to  harbor  there 
until  the  Sabbath  was  over.  When 
their  shallop  arrived,  late  in  the 
afternoon,  in  this  harbor,  the  lish- 
ermen  saw  lying  peaceably  among 
the  fleet  of  fishing  craft  a  strange 
brigantine,  which  they  supposed 
to  be  an  inward-bound  West  Indiaman. 


low's  flag. 


'l 


STKANdE    ADVENTl'UES    UF    I'llILIl'    ASllT(,iX. 


213 


But  after  the  shallop  liiul  been  at  aiiclidr  two  or  tliroe  hours, 
a  boat  from  the  brigantiiie  caine  alouj^'siclc  of  her,  aiul  her  men, 
jumping  ui)on  deek,  drew  from  lUKlenieath  their  clothing  the 
cutlasses  and  pistols  with  which  they  were  armed,  and  with 
oaths  and  menaces  demanded  of  the  startled  iisheniien  the  in- 
stant surrender  of  themselves  and  their  vessel.  Having  sus- 
pected no  ilanger,  and  being  thus  taken  unawares,  these  poor 
tishcrmen  wi're  unaljle  to  make  the  least  resistance,  and  they 
could  only  yield  themselves  up  in  surprise  and  terror  to  their 
assailants.  In  this  manner  the  brigantine's  crew  surprised 
twelve  or  thirteen  more  peaceable  tishing-vessels  that  evening. 
The  prisoners  vainly  asked  themselves  what  it  could  all  mean. 

When  Ashtoii  and  his  comrades  were  taken  on  board  the 
brigjintine,  their  worst  fears  were  more  than  realized  upon  lind- 
ing  themselves  in  the  power  of  the  red-handed  pirate,  Ned  Low, 
whose  name  alone  was  a  terror  to  all  who  followed  the  sea  in 
lionest  ways,  and  whose  ambition  it  was  to  outdo  the  worst 
cruelties  of  his  infamous  predecessors  in  crime. 

Low  presently  sent  for  Ashton  to  come  aft,  where  the  young 
lad  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  redoubta])le  rover,  who, 
according  to  the  pirates'  custom,  and  in  their  proper  dialect, 
asked  him  if  he  wcudd  sign  their  articles  and  go  nhuig  with 
them  as  one  of  the  l)and.  To  this  Ashton  returned  a  hrm  re- 
fusal;  he  was  then  without  ceremony  thrust  down  into  the 
ship's:  hold. 

On  the  ensuing  .Sabbath  ^Vshton  with  others  was  again  brought 
before  the  pirate  chief,  who  this  time,  in  a  tone  that  struck  far 
more  terror  than  the  pistol  he  held  cocked  in  his  hand,  ex- 
claimed, "Are  any  of  you  married  men?"  Not  knowing  to 
what  this  unexpected  question  might  lead,  or  what  trap  might 
be  set  for  them,  the  poor  fellows  were  dumb,  and  they  answered 
not  a  word  ;  which  so  incensed  the  {lirate,  that  he  put  his  pistol 
to  Ashton's  head,  crying  out,  "  You  dog,  why  don't  you  answer 
rae  1 "  at  the  same  time  swearing  vehemently  that  if  he  did  not 
instantly  tell  whether  he  was  or  was  not  married,  he  would 
shoot  him  where  he  stood.     To  save  his  life,  Ashton,  in  as  loud 


214 


NEW-ENGLAN I)    LK( I KN I )S. 


a  voieo  as  ho  dared  to  .spouk  it,  answered  tiiat  he  was  siiij^lo  ; 
and  so  said  the  rest  ut'  his  companions. 

To  their  unspeakabh;  disniaj'^  they  learned  that  tliis  answer 
doomed  them  to  the  fate  I'roni  wliieli  they  were  so  anxious  to 
eseaj)e,  it  l)eiiig  one  of  Low's  wliims  not  to  force  any  married 
man  into  his  service.  Wliile  the  j^reater  luimher  of  the  eaptive 
tishermen  were  therefore  released,  Ashton  was  among  tlio.se  who 
were  detained  close  prisoners  on  board  the  pirate  ship. 

His  .steady  refusal  to  join  them  .subjected  young  Asliton  to 
the  most  brutal  treatment  at  the  liands  of  Low's  miscreants, 
whose  continued  carousals,  mingled  witli  the  mo.st  hideous  blas- 
phemy, converted  the  pirate  ship  into  a  \'critable  hell  afloat. 

Low  (irst  bent  his  destructive  course  towards  Newfoundland. 
But  here  his  iirsit  venture  nearly  proved  to  l)e  liis  last;  for  liav- 
ing  descried  a  large  ship  lying  in  the  llarl)or  of  St.  .1  (din's,  he 
resolved  to  go  in  and  take  her,  and  so  t.;  fnrnisli  himself  willi  a 
larger  and  a  better  ship  tlian  the  one  he  now  commandtMl.  ^Vith 
this  intention,  after  concealing  the  ''reatcr  luirt  of  his  crew  be- 
low,  tlie  pirate  .stood  boldly  in  towards  his  expected  prey,  mean- 
ing to  run  clo.se  alongside,  and  then  to  carry  her  by  boarding, 
before  his  purpo.se  should  be  suspected.  Lut  here  liis  jiatron 
liend  served  him  a  good  turn  at  need.  For  as  the  buccaneer 
stealthily  drew  into  tlie  harbor,  he  met  a  fishing-boat  coming 
out,  and  having  hailed  her,  learned  to  liis  dismay  tliat  the  ship 
he  was  going  to  take  witli  his  two  or  three  score  of  (Uit-throats, 
Avas  a  large  man-of-war,  capable  of  ])lowing  him  out  of  the  water 
witli  a  single  broadside. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  going  into  the;  harljor.  Low  made  all  tlie 
haste  he  could  to  put  a  .safe  distance  between  liim  and  tlie 
cruiser,  lest  he  should  catcli  a  Tartar  wliere  he  had  looked  for  an 
easy  conquest.  Ho  now  stretched  away  farther  to  the  eastward, 
and  entering  Conception  Bay,  put  into  a  small  port  called  Car- 
bonear,  where  ha  landed  his  men,  who  first  sacked  and  then 
burned  the  place  to  the  ground.  He  next  made  for  the  Orand 
Banks,  where,  after  capturing  and  plundering  seven  or  eight 
vessels,  he  sailed  away  for  St.  Michael's  in  the  Azores,  taking 


I    ' 


STKANGK   ADVENTUKKS    OK    rillLIl'    ASHTON. 


215 


•\vitli  him  one  oi'  hi.s  prizes.  Wlien  oil"  this  pint  l.uw  fell  in 
witli  and  maihi  prize  of  u  large  Portugiu.'sc;  pink  loiuleil  with 
wheat ;  and  finding  her  to  bo  a  goud  sailer,  she  was  manned  and 
turned  into  a  piratical  craft,  flying  the  skeleton  flag  that  Low 
carried  at  his  masthead. 

To  the  Canaric'"..  to  the  Cape  de  Verdi'  Ishinds,  to  Bonavista, 
the  iVeeljooter  sailed  on,  leaving  the  wreck  of  imrned  and  plun- 
dered ships  in  his  track.  Then  he  ran  down  the  coast  of  Jha/il, 
hoping  to  meet  with  richer  prizes  than  any  he  had  yet  taken  ; 
I)ut  from  these  shores  he  was  driven  l»y  the  fury  (jf  a  gale  that 
nearly  proved  fatal  to  him  and  his  fortunes.  Escaping  this,  tiie 
pirate  suddenly  ap[)eared  in  the  West  Indies  ;  and  after  burning, 
plundering,  and  sinking  to  his  heart's  content,  he  scoureil  the 
Spaiush  .Main  for  a  while  with  variable  suciu'ss. 

At  length,  after  many  perils  encountered  and  escapeil,  Low's 
two  vessels  entered  lioatan  Harbor,  in  the  liay  of  Honduras,  in 
order  to  heave  down  and  clean  their  bottoms,  ami  to  get  a  sup- 
ply of  water.  Here  at  last  came  the  chance  whicli  Ashtnn  had 
so  ardently  longed  for. 

Up  to  this  time  the  j)irates  had  never  allowed  him  to  land 
with  them.  More  than  one  welldaid  plan  to  escape  out  of  tliei 
■clutches  had  already  Itecn  thwarted  in  a  way  to  crush  out  all 
hope  for  the  future.  But  he  resolutely  determined  to  make  one 
more  effort  to  gain  his  freedom  ;  for  besides  being  a  lad  of  sense 
and  spirit,  Ashton  was  young  and  vigorous,  and  r(!ady  to  con- 
front any  danger,  however  grea.,  that  should  lie  in  the  way  to 
his  deliverance  from  the  j)irate  crew. 

One  morning,  as  Low's  longd)oat  was  passing  ])y  Ashton's 
vessel,  on  her  way  to  the  watering-place,  the  lad  hailed  her,  and 
entreated  to  be  allowed  to  go  on  shore  with  the  men  who  were 
taking  the  water-casks  to  be  filled.  After  some  hesitation,  the 
cooper,  Avho  had  charge  of  the  boat,  took  him  in,  little  imagining 
that  there  was  any  danger  of  his  running  away  in  so  desolate  and 
forl)idding  a  place  as  tliis  was.     Ashton  jumped  into  the  boat. 

When  they  landed,  Ashton  was  at  first  very  active  in  helping 
to  get  the  casks  out  of  the  boat.     Lut  by  and  by  he  gradually 


T 


216 


NKW-KNdLAM) 


uS» 


11  11  I.    1 


li^i 


J! 


strolled  along  the  beach,  picking  ones  and  shells,  and  look- 

ing sharply  about   huu   in   sciii'di    of  ii  ])laco  suitable   I'or   iiis 
purpose. 

lie  had  got  a  gunshot  oil",  and  had  Ijeguii  to  edge  up  towards 
the  woods,  when  the  cooper,  espying  him,  called  out  to  know 
where  ho  was  going.  The  resolute  lad  shouted  back  the  reply 
tliat  he  was  seeking  for  cocoa-nuts  ;  and  pointing  to  a  grove  of 
stately  cocoa-|)alnis  growing  just  in  front  of  him,  moved  on  into 
the  friendly  shelter  of  the  troi)ical  f()rest.  As  soon  as  he  had 
lost  sight  of  his  conipanitms,  he  bounded  away  like  a  wounded 
deer  into  the  thick  undergrowth,  and  he  ran  on  until,  Judging 
hiiuself  to  have  gained  a  safe  distance,  he  threw  himself  on  the 
ground  in  the  midst  of  a  dense  thicket,  and  awaited  in  breath- 
less suspense  the  issue  of  his  bold  dash  for  liberty. 

After  the  men  had  lilknl  their  casks,  and  were  ready  to  go  on 
board,  the  coojjer  called  to  Ashton  to  come  in  ;  but  this  being  the 
last  thing  this  brave  lad  thought  of  doing,  he  mad(!  no  answer, 
although  he  plainly  heard  the  men's  voices  in  his  snug  retreat. 
At  last  they  began  hallooing  to  him ;  but  he  was  still  silent. 
lie  could  hear  them  say,  "  Tlie  dog  is  lost  in  the  woods,  and 
can't  find  the  way  out."  Then,  after  shouting  again  to  as  little 
purpose  as  before,  to  Ashton's  great  joy  they  put  oil'  foi'  their 
vessel,  leaving  him  alone  on  this  uniidiabited  island,  with  no 
other  company  than  his  own  thoughts,  no  clothing  but  a  ;'anvas 
cap  to  cover  his  head,  a  loose  tunic,  and  trousers  to  protect  his 
body,  and  notliing  else  besides  his  two  hands  to  defend  himself 
from  the  wild  beasts  of  prey  that  prowled  unmolested  about  the 
hideous  thickets  around  him.  lie  had  jumped  into  the  boat 
just  as  ho  stood,  having  no  time  to  snatch  up  even  so  indis- 
pensable a  thing  as  a  knife,  or  a  Hint  and  steel  to  kindle  a 
lire  with.  Yet  he  considered  this  condition  preferable  to  the 
company  he  had  left. 

Ashton  passed  the  next  live  days  in  watching  the  pirate 
vessels,  fearing  that  Low  might  send  a  party  in  pursuit  of  him  ; 
but  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  saw  them  hoist  sail  and  put  to 
sea.     Xot  until  then  did  he  breathe  freely. 


\ 


''Yr 


STUANGE    ADVHNTUHES   01'    I'lIlLII'    ASIITON. 


21' 


111  onli'.v  to  find  out  in  what  manner  lio  Avas  to  live  for  the 
fututt',  Ashton  l)ej,'an  to  ranL,'('  the  island  over.  He  saw  no  (svi- 
deiice  of  any  liuniau  huhitation,  except  one  walk  of  lime-trees 
nearly  a  mile  Iimi^l,',  with  here  and  there  some  fragments  of  pot- 
tery strewed  al>out  the  i)lace,  liy  wliicli  si^ns  he  guessed  that  ho 
hiid  lighted  ui)on  sonu;  long-deserted  residence!  of  the  Indians. 
'I'iie  island  was  mouiitaiuous,  and  the  mountains  were  thickly  cov- 
ered with  u  scrubby  black  pine,  making 
them  almost  inaccessible.  The  valleys 
abounded  with  finit-trces ;  but  so  dense 
was  the  tropical  undergrowth  here,  that 
it  was  with  great  didiculty  that  Ashton 
could  force  Ids  wav  through  it,  he  hav- 


At.ONK   ON   THK    DESEKT    ISLAND. 


ing  neither  shoes  nor  stockings  to  protect  his  feet  from  the 
sharp  thorns  that  pierced  the  flesh.  There  were  plenty  of  cocoa- 
nuts  to  be  had  for  the  trouble  of  picking  them  up ;  but  as  Ashton 
hail  no  way  of  breaking  the  thick  husks,  this  delicious  fruit  was 
of  no  advantage  to  him.     There  were  also  many  other  sorts  of 


I 


'  1 


218 


NKW-KN(.t,AN'l)    LKCENUS. 


i 


fruits  han^'ing  most  tciui)tiii<,'ly  Avithiu  roach  of  tho  half-starved 
Ashtuii's  hand  ;  but  not  knowing  what  they  were,  hi;  dared  not 
touch  any  nf  tlicni  until  he  saw  Ihe  wild  ho^s  freely  feeding 
upon  tiieni.  ^^nd  soim;  of  them  which  were  really  poi.sonotis  he 
often  handled,  hut  luckily  refrainetl  from  eating.  He  therefore 
lived  fur  some  time  upon  the  grapes,  ligs,  and  wild  beach-plums 
that  grew  abundantly  everywhere  about  him,  making  such  a 
shelter  as  he  could  from  the  copious  night-dews  that  fell,  by 
leaning  some  fallen  branches  against  a  tree-trunk,  and  then 
covering  this  rude  framework  with  a  thatch  of  jialmetto-leaves. 
In  time  ho  built  many  of  these  huts  in  dillerent  parts  of  his 
island. 

There  were  also  upon  this  island,  ami  upon  the  islands  adjacent 
to  it,  wild  deer  and  hogs.  The  wootls  and  waters  aboundeil  too 
with  duck,  teal,  curlew,  ])elirans,  bool)i(>s,  pigeons,  parrots,  and 
other  Itirds  lit  to  l)e  eaten.  The  seas  teemed  with  iisii  and  the 
shores  with  tortoises.  But  notwithstanding  his  mouth  often 
watered  for  a  bit  of  them,  Ashton  was  able  to  make  no  use 
whatever  of  all  this  store  of  beast,  lish,  and  fowl,  for  want  of  a 
knife  ami  a  lire.  So  in  the  midst  of  plenty  he  was  reduceil 
ev(Mi  lower  than  the  savage,  —  wIkj  can  at  least  always  make 
for  himself  weapons  to  kill  and  lire  to  dress  his  food. 

For  nine  solitary  months  PJiilij)  Ashton  lived  alone  on  this 
island  Avithout  seeing  one  iiumau  being.  The  parrots  had  not 
learned  to  talk,  so  that,  compelled  as  he  was  to  keep  silence,  Iks 
sometimes  feared  that  he  nnglit  lose  the  pow(>r  of  speech,  or 
forget  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  To  escape  from  the  mosqui- 
toes, black-ilies,  and  other  insect  pests  which  made  his  life  in- 
tolerable to  him,  Ashton  formed  th(i  hal.it  of  swimming  over  a 
narrow  channel  that  separated  his  island  from  one  of  the  low- 
lying  keys,  where  he  mostly  spent  his  days.  In  one  of  these 
journeys  he  narrowly  escaped  being  tlevoured  by  a  shark,  which 
struck  him  just  as  he  reached  the  shallow  Avater  of  the  shore. 
Tliis  key  also  gave  him  a  broader  and  a  clearer  sea-view  ;  for  it 
may  well  be  imagined  that  never  during  his  waking  hours  did  ho 
intermit  his  weary  watch  for  a  friendly  sail.     Sometimes  he  sat 


STltANCK    ADVKNTIKKS    OF    I'llILIl'    ASIITON. 


•Jl!) 


with  liis  l):t^'k  a.naiiisl  a  tret',  ami  his  iiico  to  tho  .sea,  tor  a  wliolo 
tUiy,  wiUiout  Stirling;  from  the  spot. 

Weakened  hy  uxposiue  and  the  want  ut'  proper  food,  iuia!)l(! 
longer  to  drag  his  torn  and  wouudi'il  hmhs  about  tli(!  island, 
Ashton  at  last  sickeni.'d  ;  and  as  his  helplessness  iuereused,  tho 
prospect  of  a  horrible  death  stared  him  in  the  face.  As  the 
days  and  nights  wore  away,  he  fell  into  a  deadly  stupor.  In  this 
tixtremity  he  one  ilay  espied  a  cauoc,  with  one  man  iu  it,  eom- 
ing'  towards  him.  When  he  was  near  enough,  Ashton  feebly 
called  out  to  him.  After  some  hesitation  the  man  landed.  Ho 
proved  to  l)e  an  Englishman  who,  to  .save  his  life,  had  lied  from 
the  Spanish  settlements.  For  throe  ilays  Ashton  had  the  un- 
speakable pleasure  of  a  compaiU(ju  in  his  mi.sery  ;  but  at  the  end 
of  this  brief  time  his  solitary  visitor,  having  left  him  to  go  upon 
u  huntuig  excursion  among  the  islands,  was  drown(!d  in  a  .s(piall, 
leaving  the  hernnt  again  alone  iu  his  wretchodne.s.s  and  anguish 
of  body  and  mind.  His  condition  was,  however,  somewhat  im- 
proved ;  for  thanks  to  his  lato  companion  he  now  had  a  knife, 
a  little  pork,  some  gunpowder,  and  a  Hint,  and  so  the  means  of 
making  a  lire,  which  was  to  him  the  greatest  of  luxuries. 

lietween  two  and  three  months  after  he  had  lo.st  iiis  com- 
panion, Ashton,  in  one  of  his  rambles,  found  a  small  canoe 
stranded  upon  the  shore.  This  enabled  him  to  ext(!nd  his  ex- 
cursion.s  among  tho  islands,  and  in  this  way  gave  promise  of  an 
escape  to  some  of  the  di.stant  .settlements. 

How  ho  made  a  voyage  to  tlie  Island  of  Bonacco,  and  while 
a.sleep  Avas  discovered  and  tired  ui)on  by  a  party  of  Spaniards  ; 
how  he  made  his  escape  from  them,  finally  reaching  his  old 
quarters  at  Roatan, — are  events  that  we  have  no  time  to  dwell 
upon.  That  he  had  found  civilized  beings  more  cruel  than  the 
wild  beasts  —  for  these  ha<l  not  harmed  him  —  was  a  lesson 
that  made  him  more  wary  about  extending  his  exploi  ations  too 
far  in  tho  future. 

Some  time  after  this  adventure  Ashton  again  saw  canoes 
approaching  his  place  (jf  refuge.  The  smoke  of  his  tiro  had 
drawn  them  in  towards  the  shon;.     Asliton  then  showed  himself 


220 


NH\V-KN(;r,.\N'l)    l.i:(iKNIiS. 


, 


(Ml  th(«  boach.  Tin'  cuiioi's  ciuiic  ti>  a  standstill.  Tlu'ii  tlit! 
parties  hailed  cadi  other,  and  after  mutual  explanations,  one 
man  ventured  to  come  to  the  shore.  When  he  saw  thu  forlorn 
and  miseralile  object  of  his  fear,  he  stood  in  s|)e(3chless  ama/e- 
luent ;  but  at  length  the  two  men  fell  to  endiracing  each  other, 
and  tlien  the  stranger,  taking  the  emaciated  body  of  Ashton  in 
his  arms,  carried  him  to  the  canoes,  wh(>re  the  others  received 
him  kindly  and  made  him  welcome  among  them. 

Ashton  told  them  his  story.  Thc^  strangers  then  infiU'med 
him  that  tliey  were  from  the  l?ay  of  Honduras,  whence,  how- 
ever, they  had  been  forced  to  lly,  in  order  to  escape  from  the 
fury  of  the  Spaniards.  With  them  Ashton  lived  in  comparative 
ease,  until  his  old  enemies,  the  pirates,  discovereil  and  moile  a 
descent  upon  them  in  their  chosen  retreat.  Ashton's  dread  of 
again  falling  into  their  hands  maybe  easily  conceived.  Jle  with 
two  or  three  others  succeeded,  however,  in  making  good  their 
escape  into  the  woods.  The  rest  were  captured  ami  taken  on 
board  the  same  vessel  in  which  Ashton  had  served  his  ajijiren- 
ticeship  as  a  iiiratc. 

Two  or  three  months  more  passed.  Ashton  M'ith  his  c'om- 
panions  had  got  over  to  the  Island  of  Uonacco  again.  A  gale 
such  as  is  only  known  in  the  tropic  seas  arose,  and  blew  with 
great  violence  for  three  days,  'i'o  Ashton  this  i)rove(l  indeed  a 
friendly  gale,  for  when  it  had  subsideil  he  descried  several  ves- 
sels standing  in  for  the  island.  Presently  one  of  them  anchored 
near  the  shore,  and  sent  in  her  boat  for  water.  This  ves.sel 
proved  to  be  a  brigantine  1)elonging  to  Salem,  and  in  her  Ashtou 
took  passage  for  liorae,  where  he  f.afely  arrived  on  the  1st  of 
May,  172.5,  it  then  being  two  years  ami  two  months  since  he 
hfvd  escaped  from  the  pirate  ship. 


AtiNKS,   TlIK    MAID    OK   TlIK    INN. 


AIJNES,   THE   MAID  OF   THE   INN. 

r  I'M  lis  [lUitty  stury,  u  ronmuco  ol'  mil  lil'f,  nmktis  u.s  ac- 
.1  miuintoil  with  two  iioblo,  ])Ul  imimlsivu  iiiitinus,  whoso 
destinies  first  bccainu  mtorwovcn  in  u  way  <iuiti!  tli.'  ivverso  nf 
tho  rouumtic.  After  perusing  it,  as  one  is  pretty  sur.^  to  .lo,  t'nmi 
beginning'  to  end,  one  is  very  apt  to  think  that  this  poor  Marble- 
head  maiden,  this  outeast,  if  you  will,  whose  great  love,  finally 
triumphing  over  pride,  prejudice,  suilering,  cruel  scorn,  and  every 
oth(;r  moral  impediment  that  the  world  puts  in  tho  way  of  duty, 
really  (confers  honor  upon  the  noble  knight  who  at  last  gives  her 
his  name,  by  awakening  in  him  truly  ennobling  and  (devating 
sentiments.  In  such  a  life  as  that  of  Agnes  one  cannot  ludp 
seeing  a  design.  Without  her  Sir  Henry  was  a  mere  votary  of 
pleasure,  a  man  of  the  world.  She  really  made  a  man  of  him 
at  last.     But  to  our  tale. 

In  the  summer  of  1742  tho  course  of  official  duty  called  the 
Collecitor  of  Boston  to  Marblehead.  The  incumbent  of  this 
ollice  which  had  been  established  with  much  opposition  in  the 
Colonial  capital,  and  was  little  respected  outside  of  it,  was  then 
Henry  Franklaml,  of  Mattersea,  in  Nottinghamshire,  who  was 
also  connected  with  one  of  the  greatest  families  in  the  North, 
and  who  was  the  heir  presumptive  to  a  baronetcy.  This  young 
man  who  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-six  had  come  into  tlu!  jms- 
session  both  of  a  fortune  and  of  a  highly  lucrative  and  honorable 
appointment,  was  now  in  the  pursuit  of  a  career.  With  rank, 
wealth,  and  high  social  position  as  his  birthright,  with  rare  per- 
sonal attractions,  and  with  the  endowments  which  all  these  had 
brought  to  his  aid,  Henry  Frankland's  future  bid  fair  to  become 
unusually  dazzling  and  urilliant. 


■F 


N E W-EN(  I L A X I )    LE( ! ENDS. 


1'  ill 


Mtirblcliead  being  at  this  period  of  her  history  tlie  smuggling 
port  for  Boston,  it  is  qnite  probable  that  tlie  C(jll('clor's  visit, 
thougli  referred  to  other  eauses,  looked  to  the  rej)res.sion  of  this 
contraband  trade,  by  which  th(!  King  - 
rovennes   were   every  day  defrauded, 
and  the  laws  of  the  realm  niore  or  less 
openly  violateil. 

Henry  Franklauil,  having  alighted 
at  the  Fountain  Inn,  found  an  unex- 
pected obstacle  in  his  i)ath. 

'fhis  was  a  young  and  remarkaldy 
beautiful  girl,  who  was  busily  engaged 
in  scrubbing  the  lloor  when   he  en- 
tered, and  who,  we  are  willing  to 
allirm,  found  tlit;  time  to  dart  an  in- 
vestigating and  appreciative  glance 
at    the    handsome 


IH^ 


\r  HisT'i 


LOVE   AT   FIRST   SIGUT. 

young   guest,   to   whom    her   own 
mean  garb  and  menial  occupation 
offered  the  strongest  possible  con- 
trast.    Struck  with  the  rare  beauty  of  her  face  'i.id  person,  the 
young  man  stopped  to  look  and  to   admire.     His  was  the  pride 
of  birth  and  station  ;  hers  tin;  submissive  deference  that  the  poor 


ACXKS,    'I'lIK    MAID    OK    TIIK    INN. 


223 


and  lowly  paid  to  its  arrogant  demands.  He  was  booted  am! 
spurred,  and  wore  Jiis  laced  beaver;  she  bareheaded  and  baiu;- 
footed,  and  upon  her  knees.  He  had  the  uuiuistakublc  air  of 
distinction  antl  breeiling  ol'  his  ckuss  ;  she  was  scrubliing  tin! 
lloor. 

The  young  man  called  lier  to  him,  put  some  (juestions  negli- 
gently, and  then,  pleased  with  her  answers,  dropped  a  piece  of 
silver  into  her  hand  and  passed  on.  He  had  seen  a  pretty  serv- 
ing-maid who  told  him  tliat  she  was  called  Agnes — Agnes 
Surriage. 

Later  on,  a  second  visit  to  the  inn  showed  him  the  same 
charming  picture,  even  to  the  minutest  details.  Agnes  was  still 
doing  the  drudgery  of  the  mn  without  shoes  or  stockings  to 
cover  her  little  feet. 

When  the  baronet  asketl  why  she  had  not  bought  tliem  with 
the  money  he  had  given  her,  she  naively  answered  that  she  had 
indeed  done  so,  but  that  she  kept  them  to  wear  in  meeting.  I'er- 
liaps  this  elegant  young  man  had  unwittingly  awakened  in  her 
breast,  like  Eve  in  .Vdam,  the  knowledge  that  Avas  to  give  a  new 
direction  to  her  lite,  —  the  pauiful  discovery  or  a  deliciency  of 
which  she  had  before  been  cahuly  unconscious.  IVrhajts  some- 
thing gave  her  the  courage  to  measure  the  distance  l)etween 
them.  AVe  do  not  know.  Had  Agnes  been  plain  as  well  as 
poor,  he  might  have  passed  her  by  without  noticing  that  her 
feet  were  bare  or  her  dress  scanty.  Her  beauty  exacted  this 
homage,  which   he  would  have  called  his  condescension. 

-lust  what  was  Sir  Henry's  lirst  design,  or  what  the  workings 
of  his  mind,  do  not  at  this  moment  clearly  appear  ;  perhaps,  ])ro- 
ceeding  from  imi)ulse,  they  were  only  half  formed  a1;  best ;  but 
be  that  as  it  may,  his  growing  interest  in  Agnes  presently  led 
him  to  seek  an  interview  with  her  parents,  wdio  were  poor  ami 
worthy  people,  living  in  the  town,  and  to  propose  removing 
tli(!ir  dauyhter  to  his  own  home,  in  order  —  Jesuit  that  he  was ! 
—  to  give  her  the  advantages  to  which  her  graces  of  mind  and 
person,  as  he  ,-  -ndy  protested,  fully  entitled  her.  The  parents 
acceded  only  too  re..  Mly  to  the  seductive  proposal.     They  could 


■■■■■■ 


II 


!  ri 


224 


iN KW-KNCLANl)    LECKNDS. 


800  110  daiigi'i' ;  not  thi\y  !  Agues  left  lior  own  huniblo  homo 
for  that  of  Sir  lluiiry  ;  and  so  tliis  girl  of  sixteen  hocame  llie 
ward  of  this  grave  y^'Uiig  geiitli'inon  of  twoiity-six.  But,  igno- 
rant as  she  was,  aiul  humble  and  artless,  it  is  easy  to  believe 
that  she  liad  alreaily  taught  him  something  he  was  in  no  haste 
to  unlearn. 

Agnes  did  ample  justice  to  her  guardian's  high  opinion  of  h.u- 
mental  »pialiHeations.  The  virgin  soil  is  deep  and  productive 
She  was  taught  the  comuKMicr  branclies,  as  well  as  the  accom- 
plislimeiits  then  deemed  iu(lisi)ensably  ri'([uisite  to  the  education 
of  a  gentlewoman  moving  in  her  adupted  sphere.  As  her  mind 
expanded,  so,  like  the  rose,  diil  her  Ijeaut}'  become  more  and  more 
radiant  with  the  consciousness  of  the  new  life  opening  to  her. 
!Shc  was  a  l^eing  created  to  love  and  l)e  loved.  Her  gratitude, 
her  confidence,  her  admiration  were  all  ceiitreil  upon  one  ob- 
ject. One  day  she  awoke  to  the  knowledge  that  she  was  be- 
loA-cd,  and  that  she  loved. 

J!y  the  death  of  his  uncle,  tlie  baronetcy  that  was  heredi- 
tary ill  the  Yorkshire  branch  of  the  Franklands  devolved  upon 
Agnes'  guardian,  who,  having  now  legitimately  inherited  it, 
publicly  assumed  the  title. 

The  discovery  to  which  we  have  referred  had  its  usual  con.se- 
quences.  Sir  Henry  Frankland,  Ijaroiiet,  c(juld  not  dream  of 
laying  his  noble  name  at  the  feet  of  a  serving-maid  ;  not  he. 
His  horror  of  a  misalliance  was  (!Von  greater  than  his  abhorrence 
of  a  different  and  a  more  etjuivocal  coiinectinn.  Ihit  he  could 
not  give  her  up.  We  will  let  the  vtdl  fall  upon  the  weakness  of 
both  of  these  lovers.  He  was  her  idol,  .she  his  infatuation  ; 
he  Joveil  like  a  luaii,  and  .she  like  a  Avomaii. 

Sir  Henry's  conduct  in  openly  living  with  liis  lovely  ward  out- 
side of  the  pale  of  matrimony  being  whispered  about,  was  an 
otfence  toe  flagrant  for  the  stern  morulity  of  the  city  of  tlie  Puri- 
tans to  endure  ;  and  its  iinligiiation  was  .soon  made  manifest  in  a 
way  to  cut  a  proud  aiid  sensitive  jiature  to  th(>  (piick.  Society  he 
found  I'ls  its  weajions,  and  can  use  them,  too,  without  mercy. 
Society  could  not  justify  his  leading  the  girl  astray  ;  but  it  would 


I 


mx^  »im 


r^ 


Ali.NK.S,    TIIK    MAID    OF    THE    INN. 


2L>5 


have  forgiven  him  now,  luul  he  rlidsm  to  (lesui't  her.  JJoston  was 
no  longer  a  pliicc  I'm'  Agnes  or  for  liini  ;  su  lliul  no  sooner  wa.s 
ho  ostalili.shed  in  his  V^lfu,  than  an  inexorable  voice  drove  iiini 
forth,  lie  [)urehasetl  an  estate  and  I)nilt  an  elegant  mansion  in 
the  pleasant  and  .secluded  inland  vilhige  of  llopkinton,  to  whi''h 
he  conveyed  Agnes,  and  with  her  touk  U[)  iiis  resilience  there. 
While  they  liv(;d  here,  tlie,  hospitality  ami  luxury  of  the  great 
house,  and  the  beauty  of  .Sir  Henry's  luysteriuus  conipani(jn, 
were  the  prolific  theme  in  all  the  ctjuntry  round.  Sir  lleiiiy 
loved  the  good  old  English  fashion,  ilevoting  himself  more  or 
less  to  the  care  and  eml)ellishment  of  his  estate  with  tlie  Eng- 
lish gentleman's  hereditary  taste  and  method.  His  devolidu  to 
Agnes  a[i[)L'ars  to  have  suifered  no  diminution  ;  an<l  when  at 
length  he  was  compelled  at  the  call  of  urgent  alfairs  to  visit 
England,  she  accompanied  him.  It  is  said  that  lie  even  had 
the  hardihood  t(»  introduce  her  among  his  aristocratic  relatives 
as  Lady  Frankland ;  and  if  he  did  so,  Sir  Henry  must  liave 
grown  bold  indeed.  Ihit  that  ill-advised  proceeding  met  with 
the  decisive  re])ulse  it  certaiidy  desei'ved.  'rhmughout  all  this 
singular  history  shines  the  one  ray  of  hoi)e  for  Agnes.  Exce])t 
in  name,  the  lovers  held  true  and  unswerving  faith  to  and  in 
each  other  as  fully  and  completely  as  if  they  luul  been  actual 
man  and  wife. 

Uut  we  must  liasten  on.  Sir  Henry's  affairs  calling  him  to 
Lisl)on,  Agnes  vrent  with  him.  While  they  were  sojmirning  in 
th(!  J'ortuguese  capital,  the'  dreadful  earth(piake  of  17^)5  laid  the 
city  in  ruins.  Under  these  ruins  sixty  thousand  of  the  miser- 
able inhabitants  were  buried  ;  the  rest  tied  in  terror.  The  car- 
riage in  wliiih  Sir  Henry  liappened  to  be  riding  was  crushed  hy 
falling  walls,  and  buried  underneath  the  rubl)ish.  Agnes  had  re- 
mained behind,  and  to  this  accident  she  oweil  her  escajje.  Kun- 
ning  into  the  street  at  the  iirst  alarm,  she  indeed  avoided  tlic 
liorril)le  death  which  had  swallowed  n]i  nudtitudes  around  her; 
but  v.-ho  can  tell  th(>  anguish  of  her  soul  in  that  moment  ?  She 
wa.s,  indeed,  saved;  but  where  was  her  lord  and  ])rotectoi' ] 
Frantic  and  despairing,  but  faithful  to  death,  she  followed  such 

15 


w 


226 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


ill 

■I 


\d 


I  'K 


tUiut  tmws  as  in  tho  cdiifusiuii  of  that  hour  could  be  obtaiiiod, 
until  chance  at  length  led  hci'  to  the  spot  where  he  lay,  helpless 
and  overwliehued.  A  line  lady  ^\uuld  have  recoiled  and  fainted 
dead  away  ;  Agnes  Surriage,  again  the  working  girl  of  iMarble- 
head,  instaiuly  set  to  work  to  rescue  her  lover  from  the  ruins 
witli  her  own  hands.  In  an  hour  he  was  extricated  from  the 
rubbish.  He  was  still  living.  .She  conveyed  him  to  a  i)lace 
that  liad  escaped  the  shock  of  the  earthquake,  where  she  nursed 
him  into  healtli  and  strength  again.  Vanipushetl  by  this  last 
supreme  proof  of  her  love  for  him,  the  knight  gave  her  his 
hand  in  return  for  his  life.  Antl  who  can  doul)t  that  with  this 
act  there  came  back  to  both  that  peace  of  miml  whiidi  alone  was 
wanting  to  a  perfect  union  of  two  noble  ami  loving  hearts'? 

We  are  obliged  to  content  ourselves  with  the  following  extracts 
from  the  poem  which  Holmes  has  founded  upon  the  story  :  — 

A  scampering  at  the  Fountain  Inn  ; 

A  rusli  ei'  great  and  small  ; 
With  InuTving  servants'  mingled  din, 

And  screaniing  matron's  call  ! 

Poor  Agnes!  with  her  work  half  done, 

They  caught  lier  unaware, 
As,  huirdily,  like  a  praying  nun, 

She  knelt  upon  the  stair  ; 

Bent  o'er  the  steps,  with  lowliest  nuen 

She  knelt,  Imt  not  to  pray,— 
Her  Httli^  hands  must  keep  them  clean. 

And  wash  their  stains  away. 

A  foot,  an  ankle,  bare  and  white, 

Her  girlish  sliapes  betrayed,— 
"  Ha  !  Nymphs  and  Graces  !  "  spoke  the  Knight ; 

"  Look  lip,  my  beauteous  Maid  !  " 

She  turned,      a  reddening  rose  in  bud, 

Its  calyx  half  withdrawn  ; 
Her  cheek  on  fire  with  damasked  blood 

Of  girlhood's  glowing  dawn  ! 


sKiri'Ki;  ikkson's  jiidk. 

He  soanihcil  lit-r  iV-utures  through  and  tliroiigh, 

As  royal  lovers  look 
On  lowly  maidens  when  they  \v(n) 

Withoiil  till!  viu<^  and  liook. 

"  Conie  hither,  Fair  one  !   I  [ere,  my  Sweet ! 

Nay,  pritiiee,  looji  not  (hiwn  ! 
Take  tliis  to  shoe  tliose  little  feet," — 

He  tossed  a  silver  erown. 

A  sudden  paleness  struck  her  hrow,  — 

A  swifter  Hush  .succeeds  ; 
It  hiinis  her  eh(!ek  ;  it  kindles  now 

iU'iieatii  her  goLlen  Ijcads. 

Slut  llitted  ;   l)ut  the  glittering  eye 

Still  sought  the  lovely  face. 
Who  was  sheV     Wlial,  and  whence  I  and  why 

Doomed  to  sucli  menial  place  .' 

A  skii.per'-.  daugliter,  — .so  they  said, — 

Left  oridian  hy  the  gale 
That  cost  the  fleet  of  Marblehead 

And  (Jloucester  thirty  sail. 


2-27 


SKIPPER     IRESON'S     RIDE. 

/"\XK  of  the  nio.st  spirited  of  Whittier'.s  home  ballads  — cer- 
V./  tainly  the  most  famous  — i.s  lii.s  "Skipper  Ireson's  Ride," 
\vhi(di  introduces  by  way  of  refrain  the  arohaic  Marblehead  di'i- 
leet  that  is  now  ii(>arly,  if  not  (piite,  extinct.  Like  most  of  this 
poet's  characters,  8kipi)er  Ireson  is  a  real  personage,  whose  story, 
briefly  told,  is  tin's  :  — 

Late  in  the  atitumn  of  the  year  1808  the  schooner  "Betsy,"  of 
Marblehead,  IJenjainin  Ire.soii,  master,  while  bulfeting  its  'way 
towards  the  home  port  in  the  teeth  of  a  trememlous  gale,  fell 
in  with  a  wreck  drifting  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves. 


r 


i  I 


22  S 


m;\v-i:n(;lani)  lkc.knds. 


::h 


n  r! 


'I'liis  Wiis  tlio  schooiu'i'  "  Active, "  nt'  I'ditlaiiil,  that  liiul  licenoviT- 
Mit  in  till)  ^alc.      It  wan  tlu'ii  iiiidiii^lil,  with  a  tiviiicinhins  ,sca 
runuiii^'.     'I'lie  ski|i])ur  of  tho  sinkiii,!,'  vi'siscl  haih-il  the  "  l>t't>y" 
ami   a.-hcd    {<<   lie   taken  oil'  the  wreck,  IVnlli  wiiicli  eveiy  wave 
inthied  threatened  tn  wash  the  (Hstrewsed  and  exhausted  crew. 
Tn  tins  it  is  .said  that  the  '•  Betsy's  "  ercw  —  (ined()t,'.s  not  like  to 
traihice  tlie  name   l)y  calHn^n'  tlieni  .saihu's  —  stroiij^ly  (hnnuiTeil, 
alle^dii;^' the  danger  of  making  thi;  attempt  in  .sneh  a  sea  in  sup 
port  of  their  cowardly  purjiose  to  abandon  the  sinking  craft  to 
her  fate.      Some  say  that  ( 'aptain  Irooii  was  himself  di.spo.sed  to 
act  with    humanity,  and  to   lie  Iiy  the  wreck  until  daylight,  ln.t 
that  he  was  overruled  liy  the  unanimous  voice  of  his  men,  wIhj 
selhshly  decided  not  .o  risk  their  own  niiserahle  lives  in  order  to 
save  others.     The  'vUetsy's"  course  Avas  acconlingly  shaped  for 
Marhlehead,  where  she  arrived  on  the  following  Sunday.     Her 
crew  at  once  spread  the  news  through  the  town  of  their  having 
fallen   in   with   a   vessel   foundering  in  the  Lay,  when,  to  their 
hoiiur,    the     Marhlehead     people    imnieiliately   despatidied    two 
ves.sels  to  her  relief.     liut  the  "Active"  had  then  g(jne  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea,  and  the  relieving  ve.ssels  returned  from  a  fiuit- 
less  search,  only  to  increase  the  resentment  already  felt  against 
Skipjier  Ireson,  upon  whom  his  crew  had  thrown  all  the  blame 
of  their  own  dastardly  conduct.     Usually  dead  nn-n  tell  no  tales; 
but  it  so  fell  out  that  in  this  instance  a  more  damning  evidence 
to    Ire.son's  inhumanity  ajipeared,  as   it  were,    from    the    grave 
itself  to  confront  him.      It  haj»i)eneil  that  on  the  luoniing  next 
following  the    night   of  the   "JJetsy's"   desertion   of  them,  the 
cai)tain  and  three  others  were  rescued  from  the  sinking  vi'ssel. 
They  soon  made  public  the  .story  of  the  cruel  conduct  of  the 
"  Betsy'?"  people  ;  and  as  ill  news  travels  last,  it  was  not  long 
befort!  it  reached  Marhlehead,  throwing  that  excitable  town  into  a 
hubbub  over  the  aspersions  thus  ca.st  iipon  its  good  name.     It 
was  soon   determined   to  take  exemplary  vengeance  upon  the 
offender.     (.)ne  bright  mooidiglit  night  Skipper  Ireson  lieard  a 
knock  at  his  door.      Upon  opening  it  he  found  himsidf  in  the 
nervous  grasp  of  a  Ijand  of  resolute  men,  who  silently  hurried 


I! 


C3 


a 


230 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


'ti  I 


■  ■  i; 


liiiii  oil"  into  a  deserted  place,  —  witli  what  object,  liis  fears  alone 
could  divine.  They  lirst  securely  pinioned  and  then  l)esniear('d 
liiui  from  head  to  loot  with  a  coat  of  tar  ami  feathers.  In  the 
morning  tiie  whole  })o])uliition  of  the  town  turned  out  to  wit- 
ness or  assist  in  this  ignoiniiiii)Us  j)unishinent,  which  hiul  been 
l)lanneil  l)y  some  of  the  Ixildcr  spirits,  and  silently  approved  by 
the  more  timid  ones.  Ireson  in  his  lilthy  disguise  was  seated  in 
the  bottom  of  a  <lory,  —  instead  of  a  cart,  —  and,  surrounded 
by  a  hooting  ral)ble,  the  unfortunate  skipper  was  then  draggccl 
through  the  .streets  of  the  town  as  far  as  the  Salem  lioundary- 
line,  where  the  crowd  was  met  and  stopped  by  the  selectmen  of 
tliat  town,  who  forbid  their  proceeding  farther,  —  thus  frustrating 
the  original  purpose  to  drag  Ireson  through  the  streets  of  Salem 
and  of  IJeverly,  as  well  as  those  of  Marblehead.  During  Ireson's 
rough  ride,  the  bottom  of  the  dory  had  fallen  out.  The  mob 
then  procured  a  cart,  and  lifting  the  boat,  culprit  and  all,  upon 
it,  in  this  way  Ireson  was  taken  back  to  Marblehead.  More 
dead  than  alive,  he  was  at  last  released  from  the  hands  of  his 
tormentors  and  allowed  to  go  home.  When  he  was  free,  Ireson 
([uietly  said  to  them  :  "  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  for  my  ride;  but 
you  will  live  to  regret  it."  And  thus  ended  IJenjamin  Ireson's 
shameful  exjiiation  of  a  shan-'^iful  deed. 

Usiiig  the  facts  as  they  ca  .le  to  jiim,  and  with  the  sanction  of 
what  was  in  its  own  time  very  generally  applauded  as  the 
righteous  judgment  of  the  people  of  Marbloheail,  the  poet  has 
put  Ireson  in  a  perpetual  pillory,  from  whi(;h  no  sober  second 
thought  is  al)le  to  rescue  him.  But  whether  cul])al)le  or  not 
culpable  in  intention,  his  weakness  in  yielding  to  his  dastard 
crew,  if  in  fact  he  did  so  yield,  amounted  to  a  grave  fault,  closely 
verging  upon  the  criminal.  To-day  everybody  defends  Ireson's 
memory  from  the  charge  which  was  once  as  universally  believed 
tt)  l)e  true  ;  and  the  public  verdict  was,  "  served  him  right." 
Unfortunately,  however,  for  him,  his  exasperated  townsfolk  exe- 
cuted justice  on  the  spot,  according  to  their  own  rude  notions  of 
it,  before  their  wrath  had  had  time  to  grow  cool.  I>ut  to  this 
fact  we  owe  the  most  idiosyncratic  ballad  of  purely  home  origin 


IM|i 


SKIITEK   IUESON's   HIDE. 


231 


in  the  langinige,  althongh  it  is  oiio  for  which  the  peoplo  of 
MiU'blclioiul  have  never  fDi-givon  the  poet. 

With  poetic  instinct  Whitlier  .soizod  upon  the  inindent,  using 
more  or  h'ss  freedom  in  ])rcs('iiting  its  (h'limatic  side.  In  tlu; 
versiliml  story  we  are  made  lookers  on  while  the  strange  [)roces- 
sion,  counting  its 

Scores  of  women,  old  and  young, 
Strong  of  muscle,  and  glib  of  tongue, 

Wrinkled  scolds,  with  hands  on  hips. 

Girls  ill  bloom  of  cheek  and  lips, 

Wild-eyed,  free-limbed,  such  as  chase 

Bacchus  round  some  anti(iue  vase, 

Ihicf  of  skirt,  with  ankles  bare, 

Loose  of  kerchief  and  loose  of  hair, 

With  conch-shells  blowing  and  fish-horns'  twang,  — 

goes  surging  on  through  the  narrow  streets,  now  echoing  to  the 
wild  refrain,  — 

" Here 's  Find  Oirson,  for  his  horrd  horit, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'(l  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead!" 

The  only  liberty  that  the  poet  has  taken  Avith  the  story  is  in 
saying,  — 

Small  pity  for  him  !  —  He  had  sailed  away 
From  a  leaking  isliip,  in  Chaleur  Hay, — 
Sailed  away  from  a  sinking  wreck, 
With  his  own  town's-people  on  her  deck  ! 

• 

The  disast(>r  really  happened  oft'  the  Highlands  of  Capo  Cod, 
and,  so  far  as  is  known,  there  were  no  Marldehead  people  on 
board  of  the  unlucky  craft  when  she  went  down.  lUit  in  truth 
such  trifling  departures  from  the  literal  facts  are  of  little  moment, 
'riie  world  long  ago  granted  to  the  jioets  complete  absolution  for 
such  venial  sins  as  these  are,  seiang  that  since  the  days  of 
Homer  it  has  been  their  proftission  to  givo  all  possible  enlarge- 
ment to  their  subjects. 


■■■■■■■■"**" 


NKW-KNfiLAXn    LE(!ENI)S. 


Assiuninp,'  tlic  stii^iini  upon  Iivsoii's  iiiciiiory  tn  l>c  an  unjust 
one,  the  iintiddto  sIkiuM  iicc(iin|iany  the  iidison.  His  rcinitutioii 
has  fount!  a  viu'tn'ous  (U'rcndcr  in  the  versus  which  follow. 


A    IM.KA    l-'oi;    1  ■!,()( )I)    IKKSON. 

ciiAiti.r.s   r.  i!K()(iKs. 

()l,l)  L'IoihI  Irc-iin  I  all  too  louj; 
Havii  ji'cr  and  jil)c  and  iil)ald  sou},' 
Done  tl)v  nu'inorv  iiiul  wroULT. 


)! 


Old  Flood  Ircson  s1ih'1)s  in  his  yravc  ; 
Howls  ui  a  mail  niol>,  worse  tlian  llic  wavo, 


(rone  is  the  jiacdv  and  ;j;ont'  the  I'Vcv, 
Yft  old  h'lofid  Iri'snn's  ^diost  m-day 
Is  liuntcd  siill  ddwn  Time's  lii^liwav. 


•:i 


Old  wife  Fame,  with  a  risli-iiorn's  hlarn 
HooliiiL;  and  tootin;^'  the  same  old  air, 
Dra'^s  him  aiouL'  tiie  old  tlioron''hl'aiv. 


Mocked  evermore  with  the  old  ndVain, 
Skilhd]\  wron,L;]it  to  a  tuneful  strain, 
Jini^lin.n  and  joltinLj,  he  comes  a^'ain 

Over  tliat  road  of  old  renown. 
Fair  hmad  iin-enne  leading  down 
Through  South  Fields  to  Salem  town, 

Scourged  and  stung  hy  the  Muse's  thong, 
Mounted  high  on  the  car  of  song. 
Sight  that  cries,  0  Lord  '.  how  long 

Shall  Heaven  look  on  and  not  take  part 

With  the  poor  old  man  and  his  fluttering  heart, 

Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart  I 


i 


SKli'i'i'i;  iiMisoN's  i;ii»i:. 

01(1  I''1()(m1  Iiv.xiii.  now  wlhii  I-'iiiiio 
Wipes  away  with  tears  (il'sliani;' 
Stains  IVom  many  an  injured  name, 

Shall  not,  in  llic  inneful  line, 
IJeams  (if  truth  and  mercy  shine 
Thnai-!i  the  cdouds  that  darken  thine  > 


l)ll 


1 

1 1 

■  i! 
11 

' 

'i 

! 

! 

'    ^ 

'1^    1 

|| 

■ 

]  1          i 

I  .  1 
I         1 

ill 

1    ,      : 

'1   ':i     i 

Part  ^irtfi. 


CAPE    ANN    LEGENDS. 


fM 


1 1 


!lt 


iUi 


CAPE  ANN. 


BY  cummaiul  dl'  Nature,  (jiu-  of  llio.se  iron-ribluMl  lidgos 
wliich  it  astoiimls  us  to  sv.a  Ibiv.st.s  growing  and  iieoplo 
living  upon,  detaches  itself  from  the  Essex  coast,  and  advances 
steadily  live  leagues  out  into  the. 
sea.  Hailing  there,  it  C(jvers  its 
head  with  a  bristling  array  of 
rocky  islands  and  jagged  reefs, 
which,  like  skirmishers  in  the. 
front  of  battle,  now  here,  now 
there,  announce  their  presence  in 
the  olHng  by  pull's  of  water  smoke. 
Au  incessant  cond)at  rages  be- 
tween these  rocks  and  the  advan- 
cing ocean.  From  the  Highlands, 
at  the  land's  end,  it  is  possible  on 
a  clear  day  to  make  out  the  dim 

white  streak  of  ("ape  Coil  stretching  its  emaciated  arm  from  the 
south  coast  towards  this  half-extended  and  rock-gauntleted  one 
from  the  north.  Hetween  the  two  capes,  which  really  seem  to 
belong  to  dilh'rent  zones,  is  the  entrance  to  the  graml  basin  of 
^Massachusetts  Hay,  over  which,  in  the  darkness,  the  ])rilliant 
rays  from  Thac^her's  and  Highland  lighthouses  cross  each  other 
liki!  ilaming  sword-blades.  Among  the  thousands  that  have 
passed  in  or  out,  one  seeks  in  his  nnuuory  for  oidy  one  little  bark 
carrying  an  entire  nation.     The  *'  Mayflower"  passed  here. 


TllK    MAGNOLIA. 


I 


2Sb 


NKW-ENCiLANI)    LEGENDS. 


I  t 
1  I 


n! 


III 

1 1  !,(  t 


Tlio  sua,  we  iidticc,  wcIcouil's  tlic  iutnuliiig  hcadlaml  with  iii- 
hospitalilc  anus;  hut  at  the  fxtrciiii'  point,  whoic  the  Mck  is 
pierceil  and  tho  sea  flows  in,  then-  is  a  purt  of  refuge  that  has 
j,'rowii  to  he  tlie  greatest  tishing-nuirt  in  the  Union.  At  nearly 
all  times,  without  regard  to  season,  the  waters  around  it  are 
covered  with  a  llight  of  sails  entering  or  leaving  the  principal 
port,  reminding  one  of  the  restless  sea-gulls  that  circle  about 
their  rocky  aerie  when  bringing  food  to  their  young. 

The  muscular  shoulder  of  the  Cape  is  occupied  by  the  towns 
of  Ueveily,  Wenhani,  and  Hamilton,  the  central  [lortion  by 
Manchester  and  Kssex,  and  the  extremity  liy  Gloucester  and 
lioc'kport.  Xearly  the  whole  interior  region  remains  tho  same 
untanuMl  wiUh-rness  that  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago;  for  among 
these  ruggcil  hills  there  is  little  land  that  is  lit  for  farming,  ami 
that  little  is  found  in  the  hollows,  or  bordering  upon  occasional 
arms  itf  the  sea.  There  are,  howev(,'r,  (extensive  and  valual)le 
forests  of  i)ine  and  (.-eilar  covering  scattered  portions  with  a  per- 
ennial gre(Ui.  The  sea  having  ptiopled  it,  and  the  land  offering 
nothing  better  than  stones,  timber,  and  fuel,  the  tishing-villages 
were  built  close  to  the  edge  of  the  shore,  where  there  wore  nat- 
ural harbors  likc!  that  of  (iloucoster,  or  upon  tidal  creeks  or  inlets 
like  those  of  Manchester  and  Anniscpiara.  From  these  villages 
sprang  a  hardy  race  of  sailors  renowned  in  song  and  story. 
Cooper's  "(.'aptain  Barnstable"  comes  from  Chebacco,  a  precinct 
of  Essex  ;  Miss  Larcom's  "  Skijjper  Ueu  "  from  Beverly.  (3ne 
does  not  think  of  these  people  as  having  any  fixed  relation  with 
the  land  :  they  are  amphibious. 

Its  general  and  apparently  irDclaimable  sterility  drove  tho 
earliest  settlers  back  upon  tho  mainland.  They  tlu'refore  aban- 
doned their  rude  cabins  and  their  fishing-.stages  at  the  extreme 
end  of  tho  Cape,  and  newly  began  at  Mdiat  was  later  on  called 
Salem,  which  at  first  included  the  whole  Cape.  Yet  notwith- 
standing this  desertion,  settlements  were  soon  begun  at  Beverly 
and  Manchester,  and  (Jloucester  was  permanently  re-occupied  on 
account  of  the  excellence  and  advantageous  position  of  its  har- 
bor.    But  for  a  time  these  settlements  were  very  humble  ones. 


CAPK   ANN. 


239 


Eoger  Conant  says  that  in  his  time  IJovorly  was  nickiKinif(l 
"Beggarly."  He  wished  to  have  it  chaii;:c(l  to  Uudleigh,  I'loiii 
a  town  iu  Uevonsliire,  Kiigliuul.  Conant  sliouhl  liml  a  name 
stmiewhore  on  Cape  Ann.  Thjit  would  at  least  h^ad  to  the 
iiujuiry  ""Who  was  Conant!"  lie  remarks  that  he  had  no 
hand  in  naming  Salem,  where  he  hadhuilt  the  Ih'st  iiouse.  Xor 
Avas  Blackstone,  the  first  white  settler  of  lloston,  or  h'uger  Wil- 
liams, who  founded  Providence,  more  fortunate  iu  securing  post- 
humous remend)rauce. 

IJayaril  Taylor  wa.s  nevertheless  extremely  taken  with  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  interior  of  (.'ape  Ann,  anil  he  was  a  trav- 
eller who  iiad  grown  something  fastidious  iu  his  jiotious  of  natu- 
ral scenery.     He  speaks  of  it  thus,  — 

"  A  great  charm  of  the  place  is  the  wild  wooded  scenery  of  the 
inland.  There  are  mauv  little,  vallevs,  hrauchin''  and  wiiulin''  as  if 
at  random,  where  the  forests  (jf  hr  and  pine,  the  great,  mossy  bowl- 
ders, the  sIkuU'  ami  coolness  and  silence,  seem  to  transfer  you  at  once 
to  the  heart  of  some  mountain  wilderness.  The  noise  of  the  sea  does 
not  invade  them  ;  even  the  salt  od(jr  of  the  air  is  smothered  by  the 
warm,  resinous  breath  of  the  pines.  Here  you  fiml  slemler  brooks, 
pools  spangled  with  pond-lily  blossoms,  and  marshes  all  in  a  tangle 
with  wild  flowers.  After  two  or  three  miles  of  such  scenery  there  is 
no  greater  suri)rise  than  U>  find  suddeidy  a  l)lue  far  deeper  than  that 
of  the  sky  between  the  tree  trunk;.;,  and  to  hear  the  roar  of  the  break- 
ers a  hundred  feet  below  you." 

While  exploring  the  coast  one  finds  it  continually  shifting 
from  beaches  of  hard  .sand,  strewn  with  a  line  dark  gravel,  to 
picturescpK!  coves  bordered  all  around  with  rocks  shattered  into 
colossal  fragments,  and  bulging  out  like  masses  that  have  sud- 
ilenly  cooled,  rusted  by  s[)ray,  worn  to  glassy  smoothness,  yet 
all  split  and  fractured  and  upheaved  by  the  powerful  blows 
dealt  them  by  the  waves.  These  coves  make  the  most  charm- 
ing summer  retreats  imaginable  ;  and  some  of  thein,  like  Old 
Kettle  Cove,  — ■  which  under  the  name  of  Magnolia  has  a 
sweeter  sound,  —  and  Pigeon  Cove,  have  turned  their  primitive 
solitudes  into  populoiisness,  and  their  once  worthless  rocks  into 
pedestals  for   the    scores  of  beautiful  villas    that  have   sprung 


L'4U 


NKW-KNCLAM)    LK(  IKNJ)S. 


i 


I 


i   I 

I  n 


'II 


up   liki)   lli((  work  o['  magic  upuu   thuir  liaM  ami  ()verhan<,'ing 

1)1'(1\V,S. 

In  one  place,  say  thai  you  leave  the  road  in  order  to  walk 
over  a  sniootii  esplanade  of  sand,  ii])  whose  gentle  slope  panting 
wave  chases  jianting  waw.  unceasingly,  while  the  forest-trees 
skirting  tlu;  heail  of  the  beach  heml  over  and  watch  this  fierco 
play,  Avitli  all  tiieir  leaves  treml)ling.  You  look  off  over  the 
ridged  and  sparkling  sea-foam  into  the  open  mouth  of  ^[arble- 
head  Harbor,  whose  iron  headlands  the  distance  softens  to 
forms  of  wax.  Two  or  three  tretdess  islands,  behind  which  a 
passing  vessel  lifts  its  snowy  sails,  are  luxuriously  dozing  in  the 
sun  and  sea.  This  must  l)e  the  haven  where  the  lleet  of  AVin- 
tlu'op  hrst  I'nrled  its  tatteretl  sails  after  a  tempestuous  voyage 
across  tilt'  .Ntlantic  of  more  than  two  months.  Yes,  there  is 
Baker's  Isle,  and  there  is  Tittle  Tsle,  within  which  it  anchored. 
Then  it  was  here  that  the  colonists,  of  whom  he  was  the  M(j.ses, 
lirst  set  lV)ot  upon  the  soil  of  their  Promised  Land  ;  and  it 
was  here  they  roamed  among  the  rocky  pastures,  gathering  wild 
strawberries  and  roses,  examining  everything  witli  eager  curi- 
osity, and  jjcrhaps  with  doubt  whether  it  was  all  real,  and 
would  not  vani.sh  with  the  night. 

From  the  domain  of  History  we  enter  that  of  l'(jetry  over  the 
tlu'eshold  of  Xature. 

Not  many  years  ago,  while  he  was  the  guest  of  the  genial  and 
gifted  Fields,  whose  cottage  is  the  (Conspicuous  (jl)jeet  on  the  bald 
brow  of  Thunderbolt  Hill,  in  ^Manchester,  Bayard  Taylor  Avas 
taken  to  visit,  in  his  chosen  and  secluded  retreat,  the  venei'ablo 
poet  who  dated  before  liynjn,  Shelley,  and  Keats,  and  who  dis- 
covereil  the  genius  oi  Bryant.  The  host  and  his  guests  are  now 
dead;  Itut  the  poet  traveller,  obeying  the  habit  of  a  lifetime, 
jotted  down  some  minutes  of  his  visit,  now  serving  to  recall 
the  man  and  the  .scene  to  our  remeiiibrance.     lie  says  :  — 

"Retracing  ouv  way  a  nale  or  so,  we  took  a  different  road,  and 
approached  {lie  coast  through  open,  grassy  fields,  beyond  which,  on 
the  edge  of  a  lofty  hhdl',  stood  the  gray  old  mansion  <jf  the  venerable 
poet,  Richard  II.  Dana.     The  ])lace  is  ;angularly  wild,  lonely,  and 


1 


CAI'E    AN\. 


241 


picturesque.  No  .itlier  .Iwelli,,},'  is  visible..  A  little  hi-ht  of  tin,  coast 
thrusts  out  its  iron  liea<llan,ls  at  a  short  .listauce  on  either  side  ;  llie 
surf  tliuiukTs  iuecssantly  l.elow  ;  an.l  iii  front  the  oj.en  ocean  stretches 
to  the  siiv.  Mr.  JJana's  only  neigiibors  are  the  vessels  that  conie  and 
go  at  greater  or  less  tiistances." 

From    this    .seclusion    tlie    \.-stor   of  American   poetry   tlius 
iiddros-ses  the  scene  before  him,  in  liis  lines  to  the  ocean. 

Xow  stretcli  your  eye  off  shore,  o'er  waters  made 
'i'o  cleanse  the  air  and  bear  the  world's  great  trade, 
To  rise,  and  wet  the  mountains  near  the  sun, 
Then  back  inlo  themselves  in  rivcjrs  run, 
FuUilling  mighty  uses  far  and  wide, 
Through  earlli,  in  air,  or  here,  as  ocean  tide. 

llo  !  how  the  giant  heaves  himself  and  strains 
And  liings  to  break  his  strong  and  viewless  chains  ; 
Foams  in  Jiis  wratli ;  and  at  his  prison  doors, 
Hark  !  hear  him  !  how  he  l)eats  and  tugs  and  roars, 
As  if  he  would  break  forth  again  and  sweej> 
Each  living  thing  within  his  lowest  deej). 

And  tlKJUgh  the  land  is  thronged  again,  O  sea  ! 
Strange  sadness  touches  all  that  goes  with  thee. 
The  small  bird's  ])laiiiing  note,  tlu!  wild,  sharj)  call, 
Share  thy  own  sjiirit  :  it  is  sadness  all  ! 
How  (lark  and  stern  upon  thy  waves  looks  down 
Yonder  tall  clilf— he  with  the  iron  crown. 
And  see  !  those  sable  pines  along  the  steep 
Are  come  t(j  join  thy  reipiiem,  gloomy  deep! 
Like  stoled  monks  they  stand  and  chant  the  dir^e 
Over  the  dead  with  thy  low-beating  surge. 

As  wo  approach  the  end  of  tlie  (;a[)e  we  enter  a  storied  region. 
Hero  is  the  deep  cleft  known  as  Rafe's  Oiasni,  and  the  t;uvny 
(dump  of  stark  ledges  wliieli  the  coa.st  throws  olf  and  tlio  sea 
Hies  incessantly  at,  called  Xomian's  AVoe.  Then  wo  enter  tho 
beautiful  islet-studded  harbor  of  Glouee.stor,  ami  with  an  inter- 
est tliat  the  natural  beauties  of  the  .spot  enluuice,  we  fix  cur 
oyea  upon  the  verdurous  soutliern  sliore  j  for  hero   the   little 

16 


J- 


n 


!i'    ' 

i 

: 

-        -|ii 

1         '■ 

1 

24'J 


NKW-ENOLANr*   LEOFNPS. 


cdloiiy  of  Iini,'!'!'  ('oiiaiit,  tlic  iiidiii'cr  udvcriinr,  iiiaiiitiiinoil  a 
stni^yliiii^  L'xislciici',  until,  liko  a  garrison  wliii.'h  can  im  lunger 
lidlil  (lilt,  it  I'cU  back  t(»  Salem,  newly  eliose  its  j^nmnd,  and 
ai^'ain  bravely  eoiifruiitcd  it.s  old  enemies,  want  and  iiej^liset.  JUit 
long  before  liim,  tliis  cape  in  tli(^  sea  [)icked  up  many  adventur- 
ous vui/ayeitr.i,  one  of  whom  presently  demands  a  word  from  us. 

In  the  heart  of  the  (Iloucester  woodlands  a  most  interesting 
floral  phenomenon  exists.  There,  ajipareiitly  defying  nature's 
lines  and  laws,  the  beautiful  magnolia  of  the  South  unfolds  in 
secret  its  snowy  llowers  and  exhales  its  spicy  perfume.  Another 
j)henomenon  is  the  beaidi  at  Manchester,  whose  sands  emit  weird 
niiisieal  tones  when  crusheil  by  tho  passage  of  wheels  through 
them.  Still  another  is  thi;  enormous  Moving  llock  at  Sipiam 
('omnion,  —  a  lieavy  mass  of  granite;  so  exactly  poised  that  the 
pr^;ssnre  of  a  child's  linger  is  snllicient  to  change  its  position. 

This  .sterile  sea-cape  may  also  lay  claim  to  other  and  more 
enduring  a.s.sociations  than  tlu'  memories  of  a  .summer  passed 
among  its  rocky  sea-nooks  can  alio rd.  Beverly  was  the  home  of 
Ilobert  liantoul,  whose  epitaph  has  been  written  by  Wliittier, 
and  of  Lucy  Larcom  ;  Hamilton  that  of  Al)igail  Dodge  ;  Kssex, 
of  K'ufns  Choate;  Gloucester,  of  K.  I'.  "Whipple  and  William 
Winter.  Manchester  was  Dana's  by  aihjption,  as  well  as  tho 
summer  haunt  of  Holmes,  James  and  Annie  i^'ields,  Klizabcth 
Phelps,  and  of  that  ancient  landmark  of  the  IJoston  I'ulpit,  tho 
Ikoverond  Dr.  I'.artol.  The  lamented  Dr.  E.  H.  ('hai)in  loveil  his 
summer  home  at  Pigeon  ('ove;  and  it  was  there  he  .sought  relief 
from  the  haunting  "  demon  of  the  study."  This  was  also  the 
favorite  haunt  of  P>ryant  and  of  Starr  King  ;  so  that  among 
those  who  were  either  native  or  who  were  habitually  sojourners 
are  many  of  the  men  and  women  most  eminent  in  our  'iterary 
annals.     That  fact  of  itself  speaks  volumes  for  the  Cape. 

Tho  legends  of  Capo  Ann  are  indigen(jus,  and  are  mostly  sea- 
legends,  as  might  be  expected  of  a  seafaring  and  .sea-subsisting 
population,  among  whom  tho  marvellous  always  finds  its  most 
congenial  soil.  Let  ua  add  that  no  longer  ago  than  last  win- 
ter, in  consequence  of  the  prediction  that  a  storm  unexami>leil  in 


CAI'TAIN    JOHN    SMITH. 


243 


the  annals  of  tho  nnitiiry  was  U,  Iniivst  ibrtli  with  (Icstructive  fuiy 
over  sea  and  laii.l  upo,,  a  ,Jy,.n  ,lay,  nut  a  vessel  of  the  Cloiices- 
ter  lishin-  fleet  dared  put  U.  sea.  Altlum-h  the  great  "  Wig-ins 
«t..nn  "  tailed  to  make  its  api.earance  at  the  tinu!  predicted7tlio 
losses  incurred  by  reason  of  the  nund)er  of  lishernien  Iving  idly 
fit  tlieir  nio.uings  amounted  to  many  tliousands  of  dollars.^  The 
lirst  of  these  legends  proper  to  be  introduced —not  fornvttin- 
that  DeM.Mits  and  (,'hauiplain  ha.l  alrea.ly  named  this'p,.niu^ 
suia  th..  Cape  .,f  Islands—  is  a  sort  of  historieal  complement  t.. 
our  description. 


1 


CAPTAIN    JOHN     SMITH. 

rp IIK  following  lin<.s  from  Whittier's  beautiful  apostroi.ho  to 
X     his  beloved  river,  "The  Merrimack,"  introducing  his  col- 
lection of  legendary  pieces,  is  seen  to  be  commemorative  of  that 
prince  of  explorers  and  hero  <.f  many  exploits,   Captain  John 
Smith,  to  whom   a  ix-rverse    fortune  has  ,lenied  any  share  of 
honor  for  his  etforts  to  make  New  England  known  an.t  appreci- 
ated in  the  Old  World.      In  the  belief  that  non.^  of  thes..  rugged 
rocks  had  ever  received  other  baptism  than  f  liat  of  the  wav.^sfhe 
lirst  gave  this  promontory  the  name  of  "Tragabigzanda"  f.'.r  a 
perpetual  souvenir  of  a  fair  Moslem  to  whom  he  owed  a  debt  of 
love  and  gratitude,  while  for  a  memorial  of  himself  he  conferred 
that  of  the  -Three  Turks'  Heads"  upon  the  three  islands.  Milk, 
Thacher's  and   Straitsmouth,  lying  off  its  extreme  point,  an.l 
now  crowning  it  with  their  triple  lights. 

Hut  these  names  wore  so  quickly  superseded  that  the  personal 
ambition  of  Smith  has  no  otlier  memorial  than  this  : 

On  yonder  rocky  cape,  which  1)iave.s 
The  stormy  challenge  of  the  waves, 
Midst  tangled  vine  and  dwartiish  wood, 
The  hardy  Anglo-Saxon  stootl. 
Planting  u[)on  the  topmost  crag 
The  staff  of  England's  battle-flag  ; 


Ill 


244 


.N  i:\V-ENl' LAN  I)   LEUENDH. 

And,  w  liilf  Iroia  mil  its  litiavv  iold 
Si.  licorgo'.s  crimson  cross  unrolliMl, 
Midst  roll  of  drum  and  trumjuit  blare, 
Anil  \vc'ajM)ns  laandi.-liinj;  in  air, 
He  gave  to  tliat  lone  jnoniontory 
The  sweetest  name  in  all  liis  stoiy  ; 
Of  her,  tlie  llower  oi'  Islam's  daughters, 
Whose  harems  look  on  Stamlioul's  waters, - 
Who,  when  the  chance  of  war  had  liouud 
The  Moslem  chain  his  limbs  around, 
Wreathed  o'er  with  silk  that  iron  chain, 
Soothed  with  her  smiles  his  hours  of  pain. 
And  fondly  to  her  ynullil'ul  slase 
A  dourer  gift  than  freedom  gave. 


THACHER'S    ISLAND. 

TIIACIIEK'S  Lslaml  is  one  of  the  most  important  light- 
luuise  stations  on  the  -whole  coast  of  tho  I'liited  States. 
It  coiitaius  about  eighty  acres  of  gravelly  soil  thickly  strewn 
with  coarse  granite  bowlders,  among  which  the  light-keeiier's 
cows  crop  a  scanty  growth  of  grass.  The  westernmost  lieailhnul, 
upon  which  are  some  ancient  graves,  said  to  be  those  of  the  vic- 
tims of  the  first  recorded  shipwreck  licre,  rescnubles  Point  Aller- 
tou,  —  it  being  a  lofty  cliff  of  gravel  intermixed  with  bowldo-s 
that  vary  in  si^e,  from  the  smallest  pebbles  to  those  weighing 
many  tons.  It  is  continually  crumbling  aAvay  before  the  wear 
and  tear  of  the  southeast  gales. 

The  light-keeper's  residence  is  a  comfortable  modern  brick 
building  of  two  stories.  There  is,  or  rather  was,  at  the  time  of 
tho  writer's  visit  to  the  island,  an  old  stone  house  staiuling 
there  that  was  reputed  to  bo  of  great  ago.  The  two  light-towers, 
buiit  of  micut  granite,  are  each  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high, 
and  they  are  furnished  with  lenses  in  which  a  dozen  persons 
might  stand  erect  without  inconvenience.     The  keepers  have  all 


1  I 


f 


I'llACIIMRS    ISLAND. 


245 


lbll(i\v('(l  tin-  si'ii.  Only  sailors  arc  capaltlo  of  a|i]iro('iatiii^'  the 
rt'HjHiiisiliility  tliat  tlic  station  iiiipuscs.  ()ni'  of  ih,'  kccpc'i-s 
said  to  iiKi — and  lialiitual  care  is  stamped  npoii  tlii'  faces  of 
these  lucn  — "  W'c'  know  how  eyes  may  he  strained  in  thick 
weather  at  s.'a  \o  '^vt  liold  of  the  liglit;  and  tliat  makes  us  pain- 
fully anxious  to  kcc|)  it  U[)  to  its  lull  jxiwer,  especially  when 
frosts  or  s(uv-scud  dims  the  lantern  ;  for  that  is  the  vmy  time 
when  minutes  count  fur  hours  on  hoard  ship." 

ANTHONY   THACIIKR'S   SHIPWRECK. 


TnK  story  of  how  Thacher's  Ishind  came  hy  its  name  is  one  of 
tragical  intta'cst,  and  is  found  in  a  letter  written  hy  Anthony 
Thacher  to  his  hrolher  Peter,  lirst  printed  in  Increase  Mather's 
"  l\emarkahle  Providences."  It  is  also  hrieily  related  in  Win- 
throp's  "dotu'nal,"  where  it  is  entered,  under  the  year  of  its 
occurrence,  I'i.'Jf),  as  an  incident  of  the  awfid  tempest  that  has 
thus  lu'coini!  historical.  Thi;  historian  Iluhliard,  writing  long 
after  the  ewnt,  .says  that  "the  like  was  never  in  this  jilac'c 
known  in  the  memory  of  man,  hefore  or  since."  On  the  land 
iiouses  were  overturned  and  unroofed,  the  corn  was  ])eaten  down 
to  the  ground,  and  the  liarvest  nearly  ruineil,  and  thousands  of 
trees  were  torn  up  hy  the  roots,  liruken  in  tM'o  like  pipe-stems, 
or  twisted  oif  like  withes,  so  that  the  effects  of  it  were  visihle 
for  many  years  afterwards.  At  sea  its  results  were  no  less  ter- 
rihle,  the  tide  rising  to  twenty  feiit  on  some  parts  of  the  coast, 
and  heing  then  kejit  from  ehlung  in  its  usual  course  hy  the 
extriuinliiiary  violenci'  of  the  gale.  Of  tlie  many  disasters  sig- 
nalizing its  presence,  that  which  the  letter  relates  is  a  most 
graphic  episode.  It  would  h(*  an  injustice  to  the  reader  not  to 
pre.sent  .t  in  all  its  primitive  (piaintness  of  form  and  style  as  a 
specimen  literary  composition  of  the  day.     Hero  it  is:  — 

I  must  turn  inyih'owneil  pen  ami  shaking  ha^id  to  imlite  tiiis  story 
of  .-uch  sad  news  as  never  hefore  this  hap]M'ncd  ui  New  England. 

There  was  a  league  of  perpetual   friendship  hutweeu  my  cousin 
Averv  and  mvs(Mf'  never  to  forsake  each  other  to  the  death,  but  to  he 


246 


NKW-KNCLAM)    LKdKNDS. 


:■! 


ipiutiikors  of  c'lch  utlit'i's  iiiisciy  or  wcHan',  us  also  of  Iiiiliitutioii,  in 
iIk'  siiiuc  pliici'.  Now  u|)oii  our  aiiival  in  New  ICiij^'laml  tlicic  was 
an  oIIVt  iiiailc  unto  us,  My  I'ousin  Avciy  was  invited  to  Maililc- 
iiuail  to  l>t!  tln'ii'  ])aslor  in  dui'  time  ;  tlicrc  licin.^;  no  cliunii  |il,intcil 
there  us  yet,  but  a  town  aiipointed  lo  set  up  llie  trade  of  lisliin;,'. 
Ik'caiise  many  there  (the  most  liein^'  iisliermeti)  were  sonietliin;^' 
h)ose  and  remiss  in  tlieir  I'ehavior,  my  i:ousin  Avery  was  unwillin;;  to 
<^n  thither  ;  and  so  relusing,  we  went  to  Xewherry,  intending  th(!re 
to  sit  ih)wn.     IJul  lieinj,'  solicited  so  ol'teii  l)olii  hy  tlie  men  of  tlie 


Till'    SUIPWRIU'K. 


place  and  hy  the  ma,L,'istrates,  and  hy  Mr.  C'otton,  and  most  of  the 
ministers,  wlio  alleged  what  u  In-neiit  we.  mii^'ht  )»e  to  the  peoj)!!;  tliere, 
and  also  to  tlie  country  and  commonwealth,  at  lengtli  we  emliraced 
it,  and  tliither  consented  to  go.  They  of  Marhlehead  forthwith  sent 
a  ])innaee  for  us  and  our  goods. 

We  embarked  at  Ipswich,  August  11,  iraa,  with  (mr  families  and 
substance,  bound  for  Marblehead,  we  being  in  all  twenty-three  souls,  — 
viz.,  eleven  in  my  cousin's  family,  seven  in  mine,  and  one  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Eliot,  sometimes  of  New  Sarum,  and  four  mariners.     The  next 


TIIACIIKK.S    ISLAM). 


247 


luoriiiii^',  liiiviiif,'  (•iiiniiii'iKlril  Durstrlvort  to  (ioil,  with  cheerful  heaitH 
we  hiiistt'd  sail.  Hut  the  linnl  siiddfiily  tiiriieil  tiiir  iheii  riilncss  iiiti) 
iiii  mill  ins,' and  laiiiciitatidii.-.  lAir  du  tin;  1  lih  i,[  this  Aii^'u>t,  l<i:5."), 
alK)Ut  tell  at  ni,L,'hl,  haviiij,'  a  IVesli  ^'ale  i>l'  w  iiid,  mir  sails,  liciiiL,'  old 
and  done,  were  s|dit.  The  inariiurs,  heeaiise  that  it  was  iii^ht,  would 
not  ])Ut  to  new  sails,  but  lesolvud  to  east  aiiehor  till  the  nioiiiiii;,'. 
Hut  Ix'l'ore  dayliijht  it  phnised  the  Lord  to  si'iid  so  mij^'hty  a  slmni, 
as  the  like  was  never  kmiwn  in  New  Enf,daiid  since  the  Kii-li>h 
caiiie,  nor  in  the  meinoiy  nf  any  of  the  Indians.  It  was  so  I'uiious, 
that  our  anchor  came  home.  Whereiiitoii  the  mariners  let  out  more 
cahh',  which  at  last  slipped  away.  Then  our  saihus  knew  nut  what 
to  do  ;  hut  we  were  driven  liet'oic  the  wind  and  waves. 

My  cousin  and  I  perceived  our  dan,i,'er,  [and  j  solemnly  recom- 
mended ourselves  to  (jod,  tiie  Lord  both  ol' earth  anil  seas,  expeetiiii,' 
with  every  wave  to  be  swalhnved  up  and  drenched  in  tlie  deeps. 
And  as  my  cousin,  his  wile,  and  my  tender  lialies  sat  coiiirortiii^'  ami 
idieerin,^;  one  the  other  in  the  Ivord  against  giiastly  death,  which  every 
jiioiueiit  staled  us  in  the  line  and  sat  triumphiii;.;  upon  eacii  one's 
forehead,  we  were  by  the  vi(dence  of  tlie  waves  and  fury  ol'  the  winds 
(by  the  Lord's  ](ermissioii)  lifted  up  ujion  a  rock  lietween  two  hii^h 
rocks,  yet  all  was  one  rock.  But  it  rai,'e(l  witli  the  stroke,  whi  di 
came  into  the  pinnace,  so  as  we  were  presently  u\)  to  our  middles  in 
water,  as  we  sat.  The  waves  came  I'uriously  and  xiolcntly  over  us, 
and  aj,'ainst  us;  but  by  reason  of  the  rock's  proportion  could  not  lilt 
us  oil",  but  beat  her  all  to  pieces.  Now  look  with  me  upon  our  dis- 
tress, and  consider  of  my  misery,  who  beheld  the  ship  l)roken,  the 
water  in  her  and  violently  ovei'whelmiiiL,'  us,  my  ljooiIs  and  jn-ovis- 
ioiis  swimmiiij^  in  the  seas,  my  friends  almost  ilrowned,  and  mine 
own  i)oor  children  so  untimely  (if  I  may  so  term  it  witliout  oll'i'iice) 
before  mine  eyes  drowned,  and  ready  to  be  swallowed  up  and  dashed 
to  pieces  against  tlie  rocks  by  the  merciless  waves,  and  myself  ready 
to  accomjiany  tiiem.  lint  I  must  go  on  to  an  end  of  this  wol'ul 
relation. 

In  the  same  room  whereas  he  sat,  the  master  of  the  ]>iimace,  not 
knowing  what  to  do,  our  foremast  was  cut  down,  our  mainmast  broken 
in  three  pieces,  the  fore  part  of  tlie  ])iiinace  beat  away,  our  goods 
swimming  about  the  seas,  my  chihlren  bewailing  me,  as  not  pitying 
themselves,  and  myself  bemoaning  them,  poor  souls,  whom  I  had 
occasioned  to  such  an  end  in  their  tender  years,  whenas  they  could 
scarce  be  sensible  of  death,  —  and  so  likewise  my  cousin,  hi.-^  wife, 


f 


II 


T 


^ 

^ 


24S 


NKW-HNCl.AND    IJKIF.MiS. 


m 


ami  his  cliiMrcii  ;  aiiil  Imili  (it'ii>  IifWitilini,'  imcIi  (itlior  ni  our  Lonl 
ami  only  Saviniir  .Icsus  Cliiist,  in  wIkhu  mily  we  liail  ((Piurnit  and 
clii'citiiliios  :  iiisoiniicli  tiiiil,  IVdiii  llic  u'lcatfst  to  llic  Ici^l  df  iis, 
tlicif  was  Mot  i>ui'  scicccji  or  oiiliTv  uiailc  ;  Imt  ;ill,  as  .-ilcnl  slurii, 
Were  coiitiMitiMlly  ri'.Hoh'i'tl  to  (li(!  to^'ctluT  |o\iii<^'|y,  as  siufe  our 
a((|uaiiitaiicf  v>r  iiail  livfil  to^'ctluT  t'lifiidly. 

Now  as  I  was  sittiii;;  in  tlic  calpiii  loom  door,  with  inv  liodv  in  the 
room,  uiicn  lol  om-  ot  tin'  ,>ailois,  hy  a  wave  licin;^'  waslicd  ont  ol'  tlic 
pinnaic.  was  ^'otttai  in  a;,'ain,  and  coming,'  into  the  cahiii  moni  ovi-r 
my  hack,  criid  out,  "We  ari'  all  cast  away.  Tin;  Lord  havo  iiu-rcy 
Uliitii  us!  I  liavf  iK'cn  washed  ovcrlmard  into  thi-  sea,  and  am  ^'ottcti 
ill  again."  Hi- siuTclics  uiadc  me  look  forth.  And  looking  toward 
thu  sea,  and  seeing'  how  wc  were,  I  turned  myscU'  to  my  cousin  and 
the  rest,  und  spake  ihe.se  wonls  :  "()  cou.>in,  il  hath  pleased  (iod  to 
cast  us  here  hetweeii  two  rocks,  the  shore  not  far  from  us,  for  I  saw 
the  lops  of  trees  wheu  1  looked  forth."  Whereupon  the  master  of 
the  pinnace,  looking,'  up  at  the  scutlle-lude  of  tlie  ([uarter-ileck,  went 
<iuf  at  it  ;  Imt  I  never  saw  hiui  afterward.  Tlieii  he  that  had  hi'cn 
in  the  SIM  went  out  a;4ain  by  me,  and  leajied  overbounl  toward  the 
rocks,  whom  afterward  also  I  could  not  see. 

Now  none  were  left  in  tlie  hark  that  I  kiu'W  or  saw.  hut  my  cousin, 
his  wife  and  children,  myself  and  mine,  and  his  maidservant.  J!ut 
my  cousin  thouj^dit  I  would  have  lied  from  him,  and  said  unto  me  : 
"O  cousin,  leave  us  not,  let  us  die  to<,'ether  ;"  and  re,iclie<l  forth  his 
hand  unto  me.  Then  I,  lettinj,'  l,'o  my  sfin  Peter's  hand,  took  him  hy 
the  hand  and  said:  "Cousin,  I  purposi'  it  not.  Whither  shall  I  '^o  I 
I  am  willing  ami  ready  here  to  di(f  with  you  and  my  poor  childri'n. 
(}od  he  merciful  to  us,  and  receive  us  to  himself!"'  adding  these 
words  :  "The  Lnnl  is  alile  to  help  and  deliver  us."  He  re]ilied,  saying, 
"  Truth,  cousin  ;  hut  wliat  his  ]i]easure  is,  we  know  not.  I  fear  we 
lave  lieen  too  unthaidvful  for  former  deliverances.  But  he  hath 
prondsed  to  deliver  us  from  sin  and  condemnation,  and  to  bring  us 
.safe  to  lieaveii  through  the  all-sullicient  satisfaction  of  .Tesua  Christ. 
This,  tlierefore,  W(^  may  challenge  of  him."  To  which  I,  replying, 
sai<i,  "  That  is  all  the  ilidiveranco  I  now  desire  and  expect." 

Wliicli  words  I  liad  no  sooner  spoken,  hut  by  andghty  wave  I  was, 
with  the  ])iece  of  the  liark,  washed  out  upon  part  of  the  rock,  where 
the  wave  left  me  almost  drowned.  But  recovering  my  feet,  I  saw 
abovt'  me  on  the  rock  my  daughter  Mary.  To  whom  1  had  no 
sooner  gotten,  but  my  cousin  Avery  and  his  eldest  son  came  to  us, 


M 


TIIArin.l!  S    ISLAND. 


240 


holuii  all  four  (if  us  wii.xlnil  niu  \<y  mu;  ami  the  sanic  wavi'.     We  witit 


into  (I  small  holt!  on  tin;  lop  of  iIk-  rock,  wliciici'  we  i  alli'<l  lull 


lO-C 


ill  till'  iiiiiiiarc  to  coiiic  unto  us,  .HU]i]MHin^'  \\f  iiail  licm  in  iimn-  saicty 


ci'i'lit   up  into  the 
iitlv  lanit? 


r.iil 


\>Vi<i 


than  tln'v  wi-ri'  in.  .My  wife,  soring,'  iis  tlicif. 
scuttle  cif  the  (|iiartfr-iic('k,  to  cnmi'  unto  ii 
iinotiiiT  wavf,  ami  ilawhiii),'  the  iiinnaci!  all  to  pieces,  canicil  my  wifn 
away  in  the  scuttle  a.s  slit;  was,  with  this  f,'reaier  part  of  ilie  (piartcr- 
tlerk,  unto  the  shore;  where  hIu!  wa.s  cast  safely,  imt  her  letjs  wert! 
soniethiiij,'  hrui.sed.  Ami  niui'h  timher  of  the  vessel  hein^,'  there  al>o 
cast,  she  was  some  time  before  she  couM  ).'et  away,  hein^'  waslieit  l>y 
the  waves.  .Ml  the  rest  that  were  in  the  hark  weic  ilidwiieil  in  the 
merciless  seas.  We  four  iiy  that  w.ive  were  dean  swept  away  from 
(ilf  the  rock  also  into  the  sea;  tlic!   Lord,  in  one  instant   of  time,  dis- 

posini,'  of  lifteeii  souls  of  u.i  accord iii),'  to  his  ^ 1  plea>uie  and  will. 

1 1  is  jileasure  and  wonderful  ;,'reat  mercy  to  me  was  thus.     Stand- 
iiii,'  oil    the  rock,  as  hefore  voii  hianl,  with  niv  eldest  dau^diler,  my 


coll 


sin,  ami  his  eldest  son,  looking,'  upon  ami  talkiii;,'  to  them  in   tl 


liark,  wheiias  we  were  i)v  that  mena! 


e.ss  wave  wastn  it  o 


If  ti 


le  rocK,  as 


before  you  heanl,  Ood,  in  his  mercy,  causeil  me  to  fall,  by  the  stroke 
of  thi^  wa\e.  Hat  on  my  face  ;  for  my  fai'e  was  toward  tlie  sea.  Inso- 
niiicii,  that  as  I  was  sliding  off  the  rock  into  the  sea,  the  Lord  directed 
my  toes  into  a  joint  in  the  rock's  side,  as  also  the  tops  of  some  of  my 
liii,i,'ers,  with  my  ri;,dit  hand,  by  mean.s  whereof,  the  wave  leavinj,'  me, 
1  remained  so  haiigiiij,'  on  tlu;  rock,  only  my  head  aliove  the  water  ; 
when  on  the  left  hand  I  espied  a  )>oard  or  plank  of  the  oimiace.  And 
as  I  \\as  reachint;  out  my  left  hand  to  lay  hold  on  it,  by  another  com- 
ing' o\'er  the  top  (if  the  rock  T  was  washed  away  from  tlie  lock,  and 
liy  the  violence  of  the  waves  was  driven  hither  and  thither  in  the 
seas  a  1,'reat  wliile,  ami  ha<l  many  dashes  against  the  rocks.    At  length. 


la. 


St    I 


lop 


.f  Lift 
.1  1 


an( 


1  wearieil  in  body  and  sjiirits,  I  even  g 


'av(!  over 


the  waters  of  death,  I  lilted 


to  nature  ;  ami  iieing  ready  to  receive!  m 
up  both  my  heart  and  hamls  to  tli(!  (Joil  of  liea\en,  —  for  note,  I  had 
my  senses  remaining  ]ierfect  with  me  all  the  tiiiu!  that  I  was  under 
ami  in  water,  —  who  at  that  instant  lifted  my  head  aliov(!  the  top  of  the 
water,  that  po  I  might  breathe  without  any  hindrance  by  the  waters. 
1  stood  bolt  uiiright,  as  if  I  had  stood  upon  my  feet  ;  but  I  felt  no 
bottom,  nor  had  any  footing  for  to  stand  U]ion  but  the  waters. 

While  I  was  thus  above  the  water,  I  saw  by  me  a  piece  of  the  mast, 
as  I  su]ipose,  about  three  foot  long,  which  I  labore(l  to  catch  into  my 
arms.     But  suddenly  I  wa.s  oviTwhelmed  with  water,  and  driven  to 


J 


:   1:1 

f\\  ; 


250 


NEW-ENULAND    LEGENDS. 


I 


t 


I  !I 


and  I'lo  iiL,'aii),  and  at  last  I  lull  tliegroiiiul  with  my  right  foot.  Wlien 
iiiuiu'diatcly,  wliilst  I  was  tlms  giDvclliiig  on  my  law,  1,  presently 
rocovuriiig  my  leut,  was  in  tiif  watur  up  to  my  hieasl,  and  thiougii 
Ctod's  great  mercy  had  my  liu:('  unto  the  shore,  ami  not  U)  the  s(!a.  I 
made  haste  to  get  (jut,  but  was  thrown  down  on  my  hands  with  tlie 
waves,  and  so  with  safety  crept  to  the  dry  slioie.  where,  blessing 
God,  I  turned  about  to  look  for  my  ehildren  and  friends,  but  saw 
neither,  nor  any  part  of  the  pii;nace,  where  1  left  tliem,  as  I  supposed. 
But  I  saw  my  wile,  aljout  a  butt  length  from  me,  getting  herself  foilli 
from  a\uongst  the  timber  (jf  the  broken  bark ;  but  before  I  could  get 
unto  her,  she  was  gotten  to  the  shore.  I  was  in  the  water,  after  I 
was  washed  fn^m  the  i.^ck,  before  1  came  to  the  shoie,  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  at  least. 

When  we  were  come  each  to  other,  we  went  and  sal  under  the 
bank.  But  fear  of  the  seas'  roaring,  and  our  coldness,  would  not 
suffer  us  there  to  remain.  But  we  went  uji  into  the  land,  and  sat  us 
ilown  under  a  cedar-tree,  which  the  wind  had  thrown  down,  where 
we  s.it  about  an  hour,  almost  dead  with  cold.  lUit  now  the  storm 
was  broken  up,  and  the  wind  was  calm  ;  but  the  sea  remained  rough 
and  fearful  to  us.  My  legs  were  much  bruised,  and  so  was  my  heati. 
Other  hurt  ha'l  I  none,  neither  had  I  taken  in  much  ijuantity  of 
water.  But  my  heart  would  not  let  nie  sit  still  any  longer  ;  out  L 
would  go  to  see  if  any  more  were  gotten  to  the  land  in  safety,  espe- 
cially hoping  to  have  met  with  some  of  my  own  poor  children;  but  I 
could  find  none,  neither  dead  nor  yet  living. 

You  condole  with  me  my  miseries,  who  now  began  to  consider  (jf 
my  hisses.  Xowcame  to  my  remembrance  the  time  and  manner  how 
and  when  I  last  saw  and  left  my  chili' •  "^  and  friends.  One  was 
severed  from  me  sitting  (jn  the  rock  at  my  .  „t,  the  other  three  in  the 
pinnace  ;  my  little  babe  (ah,  poor  Peter!)  sitting  in  liis  sister  Edith's 
arms,  who  to  the  uttermost  of  her  power  sheltered  him  from  the 
watei's  ;  my  poor  William  standing  chjse  unto  them,  all  tiiree  of  tliem 
looking  ruefully  on  me  on  the  rock,  their  very  countenances  calling 
unt(j  me  to  help  them ;  whom  I  coidd  n<jt  go  unto,  neither  could  they 
come  at  me,  neither  would  the  nici'ciless  waves  all'ord  me  si.aci!  or 
time  to  use  any  means  at  all,  either  to  help  them  or  myself.  Oh,  I 
yet  see  their  cheeks,  poor  silent  lambs,  pleading  jiity  and  help  at  my 
hands.  Then,  on  the  other  side,  to  consider  tlie  loss  of  my  tlear 
friends,  with  the  s))oiling  ami  loss  of  all  our  goods  and  ]irovi>i(ins, 
myself  cast  upon  an  unknown  land,  in  a  wilderness,  I   knew  not 


TIIACHEU'S    ISLAND. 


251 


wlicrc  nor  liow  to  get  tliciicc.  Then  it  eaine  to  my  iiiiml  how  1  had 
uccasioiieil  the  dei'ih  of  my  ehildreii,  wlio  cuusud  them  to  leave  theii' 
native  laud,  who  might  have  left  them  there,  yea,  and  might  have 
sent  some  ol' them  back  again,  and  cost  me  nothing.  These  and  such 
like  thoughts  do   press  down  my  heavy  heart  very  nundj. 

liut  1  must  let  tliis  pass,  and  will  proceed  on  in  the  relation  of 
(Jod's  go(Klness  unto  me  in  that  desolate  island,  on  which  I  was  cast. 
1  and  my  wife  were  ahnust  naked,  liolh  of  us,  and  wet  and  cold  even 
unto  death.  1  found  a  snajisack  cast  on  the  shore,  in  whiili  1  had  a 
steel,  and  Hint,  and  powder-liorn.  (Joing  farther,  1  found  a  drowned 
goat  ;  then  I  found  a  hat,  and  my  son  William's  coat,  l)ot]i  which 
I  i)Ut  on.  My  wife  found  one  of  her  petticoats,  which  she  put  on.  1 
found  also  two  cheeses  and  some  hutter  <lriven  ashore.  Thus  the 
Lord  sent  us  some  clothes  to  put  on,  and  food  to  sustain  our  new 
lives,  which  we  had  lately  given  unto  us,  and  means  also  to  make 
tire  ;  for  in  a  horn  I  had  some  gunpowder,  wliich,  to  mine  own,  and 
since  to  other  men's  admiration,  was  dry.  So  taking  a  piece  of  my 
wife's  neckcloth  which  1  dried  in  the  sun,  I  struck  lire,  and  so  dried 
and  warmed  our  wet  bodies  ;  and  then  skinned  the  g<jat,  and  ha\  ing 
found  a  small  laass  pcjt,  .we  Ixjiled  some  of  her.  Our  drink  was 
brackish  water  ;  Ijiead  we  had  none. 

There  we  remained  until  the  ]\Ionday  following  ;  when,  al)oiit 
tlnee  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  in  a  boat  that  came  that  way,  we 
went  oif  that  desolate  island,  whicli  1  named  id'ter  my  tianie,  Thacher's 
Woe,  and  the  rock,  Avery  his  Fall,  to  the  end  tiiat  their  fall  and  h)ss, 
and  mine  own,  miglit  be  had  in  perpetual  rememV>rance.  In  the  isle 
lieth  buried  the  bddy  of  my  cousin's  eldest  daughter,  whom  I  found 
dead  on  the  shore.  On  the  Tuesday  following,  in  the  afternoon,  we 
arrived  at  ^Marblehead. 


Sueli  an  event  Avntihl  naturally  liave  its  poetics  pondaiif.  The 
simple  pathos  of  the  prose  narrative  may  now  be  contrasted 
witli  the  chaste  beauty  of  "Wliittier's  "Swan  Song  uf  l'ars(  ii 
Avery,"  wliich  turns  upon  the  po])ular  fallacy  tliat  the  swan 
l)our.s  forth  it.s  exjiiring  breath  in  .song. 


r 


i 


252 


nh\v-kn(;lani>  lkcjends. 


T 


TllK   SWAN    S()X(J   OV   PARSON   AVERY. 

,(.   (J.   win  IT  I KR. 

When  the  icjiii-n's  task  was  lmkK'cI,  and  tlii^  suimiicv  weariii},'  late, 
Parsdii    Avciy    sailiMl   IVoiu    Ncwlmrv,  witli    his    wife    and  (diildivii 

ei.i^ht, 
Dnilipini; down  the  livtT-harlior  in  the  shallop  "Watrliand  Wait." 

All  day  they  saiU'd  :  at  ni^ditiall  tlu'  ]ilcasant  land-l.roo/c  iliod, 
Tlu!  bhukciiin-  sky,  at  niidnij^ht,  ils  starry  li;J;llt^  denied, 
And  I'ar  and  low  thf  thunder  of  teuiiiest  ]iroiiliesied  ! 

All  at  once  the  j^nvat  eloud  jiarted,  liki:  a  curtain  ilrawn  aside, 
To  let  (low;'  the  torch  of  li;j;htninij;  on  the  teiror  far  and  wide  ; 
And  the  thunch'r  and  the  whirlwind  to^'ether  smote  the  tide. 

There  was  wailini;'  in  tin;  shallo]),  woman's  wail  and  man's  despair, 
A  crasli  of  breaking  tindjers  on  the  rocks  so  sharji  and  hare, 
And,  through  it  all,  th  i  -uurmuv  of  Father  Avery's  prayer. 

"  In  tins  lught  of  death  I  challenge  the  promise  of  thy  word  '.  — 
Let  me  see  the  great  salvation  of  which  ndne  ears  have  heard!  — 
Let  me  pass  from  hence   forgiven,  through  the  grace  of  t'hrist,  our 
Lord  I " 

•  .  •  *  .  •  • 

Wlu.n  the   Christian  sings  his  death-song,  all  the  listenhig  heavens 

draw  near, 
And  the  angels,  leainng  over  the  walls  of  crystal,  hear  ^ 
ll.,w  tlie  notes  so  faint  and  hrokeu  swell  to  music  in  ( lod's  ear. 

The  ear  of  (iod  was  o]ien  to  his  servant's  last  recpiest  ; 

As  the  strong  wave  swept  him  downward  the  sweet  hymn  upward 

pressed. 
And  the  soul  of  Father  Avery  went,  singing,  to  its  rest. 


I  r:\ 


i  \ 


T 


THE    Sl'KUTKE    LEAGUEUS. 


253 


THE   SPECTRE   LEAGUERS. 

^f'^lIE  fatal  year  1(!'J2,  in  wliich  the  witehcruft  torrorism  ko 
_L     thoroughly  peniu'atwl  things  uunulane,  ha.s  one  ludicrous 
cliapter  to  redeem  it  from  utter  fatuity. 

It  is  gravely  told  iu  llu;  "  Magualia  Christi  "of  Cotton  Maliier, 
and  on  the  autliority  of  tlje  Reverend  .lohu  Emerson,  of  (Jlou- 
(•ester,  how  a  number  of  rollicking  apparitions,  dressed  like  gentle- 
mi'n,  in  white  waistcoats  and  breeches,  ke2)t  tliat  and  the  neigh- 
boring towns  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement  and  alarm  for  a 
wliole  fortnight  together.  And  neither  of  the  reverend  persons 
named  seems  to  have;  entertained  a  doubt  that  th(!se  unaccount- 
able molestations  were  caused  by  the  Devil  and  liis  agents  in 
propria  persona,  who  took  the  human  form  for  the  better  exe- 
cution of  their  deep  design.  It  is  not  very  clear  what  that  de- 
sign wa.s.  The  spectres,  if  such  they  were,  —  and  as  it  wouhl 
be  unpardonable  iu  us  to  doubt,  —  appear  to  have  been  a  luirm- 
less  sort  of  folk  enough,  for  they  did  no  injury  either  to  the  per- 
sons or  the  property  of  the  inliabitants,  thus  layiug  their  natural 
propensities  under  a  commendaUe  restraint.  Eut  tlie  fact  that 
they  were  sjiirits,  and  no  ordinary  S])irit3  at  that,  being  so  con- 
fidently V(juched  for,  and  by  sucli  high  autliority  on  such  mat- 
ters as  Dr.  Cotton  Mather,  would  seem  to  dispose  of  all  doubt 
upon  the  subject.  Should  any,  however,  remain  iu  the  reader's 
nuud  after  perusing  the  following  account,  he  is  lemiuded  tliat 
what  he  has  read  is  tlie  sworn  evidence  of  men  who  actually 
fought  with,  and  on  mcn'e  than  one  occasion  disgracefully  route<l 
and  drove  the  invading  demons  bef.)re  them  into  dark  swamj)s 
and  thickets.  These  witnesses  arc;  all  persons  of  character  and 
credibility.  Moreover,  their  testimony  remrijus  unshaken  by  my 
subsequent  revelations  to  this  day.  The  reader  may  therefore 
depend  upon  the  authoritative  character  of  the  narrative. 


I!!! 


254 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


li 


I   i! 


lu  .(!  miclsuinnier  time,  in  Hk;  yv.v  IODl',  of  l'at;il  mcinory, 
Ebciiczc'i'  I>iib.s(iii,  ii  sturdy  ycuiiiuii  nf  Cujiu  Ann,  with  the  rest 
of  his  llunily,  alnKi.^l  cvfiy  night  hfaid  noises  us  if  sumo  persons 
wei'o  walking  or  lunning  hit  her  and  thither  aluiut  the  Ijouse. 
He  being  out  Lite  one  night,  when  returning  home  saw  two  men 
come  out  ol'  his  own  (U)or,  ami  then  at  sight  of  him  run  swiftly 
from  the  end  of  the  lunise  into  the  adjoining  corniieUl.  Going 
in.  he  immediately  (|ue.stioned  his  family  concerning  these 
strange  visitors.  I'hey  promptly  replied  that  no  one  at  all  had 
been  there  during  iiis  absence.  Staggered  by  this  denial,  but 
being  withal  a  very  resolute,  atoutdiearted  man,  J!abs(ni  seized 
his  gun  and  went  out  in  jjursuit  of  the  intruders.  When  be  had 
gone  a  little  Ava}'  from  the  house,  he  saw  the  same  men  suddenly 
start  up  from  behind  a  log  and  run  into  a  swamp  that  was  ni'ar 
by.  Hi'  also  overheard  one  say  to  the  other,  '• 'i'be  man  of  the 
house  is  now  come,  else  we  might  have  taken  the  house."  Then 
he  lost  sight  of  them. 

I'lKUi  this,  expecting  an  immediate  attack,  the  whole  family 
rose  in  consternation,  and  went  with  ;dl  haste  to  the  nearest 
garrison,  which  was  only  a  short  distance  olf.  'i'hey  had  only 
just  entered  it  when  they  heard  heavy  footfalls,  as  if  u  number 
of  men  were  trampling  on  the  ground  around  it.  Then  Labsou 
again  took  his  gun  and  ran  out,  and  he  again  saw  the  two  men 
running  away  down  the  hill  into  the  swamp.  JJy  this  time 
no  one  doubted  that  they  were  threatened  with  an  Indian  for- 
ray,  that  these  men  were  the  enemy's  scouts,  and  that  the 
danger  was  imminent. 

The  next  night  but  oiu',  IJabson.  for  the  third  time,  saw  two 
men,  who  he  thought  looked  like  Frenchmen,  one  of  them  hav- 
ing a  bright  gun,  such  as  tlit;  Frencli  Canadians  used,  slung  on 
his  back.  Moth  of  them  started  towards  him  at  the  toj*  of  their 
speed  ;  but  Ilabson,  taking  to  his  heels,  made  good  his  escape 
into  the  garrison,  and  so  eluded  them.  When  he  had  got  safely 
in,  the  nois(^  of  men  moving  about  on  the  outside  was  again 
distinctly  heard.  Not  long  after  these  strange  things  had  taken 
place,  Dabson,  with  another  man,  named  John  Brown,  saw  three 


M 


THE   Sl'HUTlJK   LKACirEliS. 


iiicii  (Uio  miiiilu'i',  like  Falstall's  men  in  hneknuii,  luul  now  iii- 
creiiscd  to  tlu'eej,  whom  tliey  tried  \u\vd  to  get  a  sliot  at,  lint  did 
n(jt,  owing  to  the  strang(!rs'  dodging  al)out  in  so  lively  a  manner 
that  they  eould  not  take  aim.  For  two  ov  tlii'ee  nigjits  tln'se 
men,  or  devils  in  tlie  i'orm  ol'  men,  continued  to  appear  in  the 
same  mysterious  way,  I'oi'  the  pui'pose  of  drawing  the  Cape  men 
out  into  a  wild-goose  eliasi;  after  them.  On  didy  II,  Halison, 
Ilrowii,  and  all  the  garrison  s;iw  within  gunshot  (jf  them  lialf-a- 
dozeu  men,  whom  they  supposed  to  he  reconnoitring,  or  trying 


A   SORTIK    ri'ON    THE    DEMONS. 


to  decoy  thorn  into  an  amhush.  The  brave  garrison  at  once 
sallied  out  in  hot  pursuit,  liahson,  who  seems  to  have  ever 
sought  the  forefront  of  liattlc,  presently  overtook  two  of  the 
skulking  vagabonds,  took  good  aim,  and  pulled  the  trigger;  but 
his  trusty  gun  missed  lire,  and  they  got  away  and  hid  them- 
selves among  the  bushes.  ITe  then  called  out  to  his  comrades, 
who  inimetliately  answered,  "  Here  they  are  I  here  they  are  ! " 
when  Ikbson,  running  to  meet  them,  saw  three  men  stealing  out 
of  the  swamp  side  by  side.  Bringing  his  gun  to  his  shouhhir, 
with  sure  aim  this  time  he  lired  :  when  all  thn.'c  fell  as  if  shot. 


I 


i^ 


J 


i 


mi 


'loG 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


AluKJst  bosiilu  liimsell',  IJabKoii  cried  out  to  his  conii)!iuioiis  tliut 
lit'  luul  kilk'il  tlirue.  JUit  when  ho  was  (toiiic  iiuiu'ly  up  to  tho 
siii)|)osn(l  doiid  iiu'ii,  tlu-y  all  rose  up  and  ran  away,  ai)pai'(;ntly 
willidut  hurt  or  wound  oi'  any  kimh  Indeed  one  <it'  theiu  j^MVt! 
J>al).s()n  a  shot  in  return  for  liis  own,  the  buHet  narrowly  niiss- 
in,^'  liini,  and  burying'  itself  in  a  tree,  from  wliich  it  was  after- 
ward ihig  out,  and  jiresorved  as  a  trophy  of  the  coni])at.  liabson 
thinkinf,'  this  warm  work,  took  refuge  behind  a  tree  and  reloaded. 
Then,  his  comrades  having  joineil  him,  they  all  charged  ti^giither 
upon  the  sptit  wdiere  the  fugitives  lay  concealed.  Again  the 
spectres  .started  up  before  their  (iyes  and  ran,  "  every  man  his 
way."  One,  however,  they  surrounded  and  hemmed  in,  and 
Iiabson,  getting  a  fair  .sliot  at  him,  .saw  him  dro[).  liut  wlien 
search  was  made,  the  dead  boily  had  vanished.  After  a  fruit- 
less hunt,  during  which  the  stout-hearted  Colonists  heard  a  loud 
talking  going  on  in  the  swamp,  in  s(jmo  outlandish  jargon  they 
could  not  under.stand  a  word  of,  they  returned,  crestfallen  and 
half  dead  with  fatigue,  to  the  garri.son,  in  order  to  report  their 
ill-success.  But  no  sooner  were  they  back  there,  than  they  saw 
more  men  skulking  among  the  bushes,  who  prudently  kept  out 
of  gunshot.     What  couhl  it  all  mean] 

The  next  morning  Dabson  started  to  go  over  to  the  harbor  in 
order  to  give  the  alarm  there,  for  it  "was  not  doubted  b}'  any  one 
that  an  attack  was  imminent.  While  on  his  way  tliiiher  he 
was  waylaid  and  lired  at  })y  the  "unaccountable  troubh.Ts,"  who, 
strange  to  say,  loaded  their  guns  with  real  bullets,  as  jioor  liab- 
son was  near  finding  out  to  his  cost.  Having  jirocured  help, 
the  neighborhood  was  scoured  for  traces  of  the  attacking  jtarty, 
two  of  whom  were  seen,  but  not  being  mortal  llesh  and  blood, 
could  not  be  harmed  by  Liad  or  steel. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  UKjre,  two  of  the  garrison  wont 
out  upon  a  scout,  who  saw  several  men  come  out  of  an  orchard, 
in  Avhich  they  seemed  to  })e  ])erforming  some  strange  incanta- 
tions. They  counted  eleven  of  tlitiui.  Kichard  1  )olliver  raised 
his  gun  and  lired  into  the  midst  of  them,  where  they  stood  the 
thickest ;  but  of  course  without  other  eifoct  than  to  make  them 
scatter  as  before. 


TIIK    srKCTUE    LEAGUERS. 


257 


It  now  being  cleur  that  tlie  strange  vi.situr.s  b(n'e  a  ehanuijtl 
lil'e,  antl  tliat  tlio  Cape  was  in  great  peril  I'roni  tlii.s  diabolical 
invasion,  the  end  of  which  no  man  could  foresee,  the  aid  of  the 
surrounding  towns  was  invoked  in  this  truly  alarming  crisis. 
A  reinforcement  of  sixty  men  from  Ipswich,  led  by  Captain  Aj)- 
pleton,  coming  promptly  to  the  rescue,  gave  the  garrison  much 
encouragement,  lieleaguered  round  as  they  were  by  the  Powers 
of  Darkness,  against  which  lead  and  steel  were  of  no  more  ell'ect 
than  snowballs  or  rushes  would  have  been.  For  a  fortnight 
they  had  l)cen  kept  in  continual  alarm,  night  and  day.  The 
infernal  visitants  showed  themselves  first  in  one  jilace  and  then 
in  another,  to  draw  out  and  harass  thorn,  until  a  foeman  seemed 
lurking  in  every  bush.  Though  repeatedly  shot  at,  none  could 
lie  killed.  They  threw  stones,  beat  ui)ou  barns  with  clubs,  and 
otherwise  acted  more  in  the  spirit  of  diabolical  revelry  than  as 
if  actuated  by  any  deadlier  purpose.  They  moved  about  the 
swamps  without  leaving  any  tracks,  like  ordinary  beings.  In 
short,  it  was  evident  that  such  adversaries  as  these  were,  must 
be  fought  with  other  weapons  besidi's  matchlocks  and  broad- 
swords ;  conset^uently  a  strange  fear  fell  uj)on  the  Cape. 

Finally  they  became  still  more  insolently  bold,  and  so  far 
from  showing  the  same  cowardly  disposition  to  take  to  their 
heels  whenever  they  were  chased,  they  now  treated  their  jiur- 
suers  with  open  contempt.  For  instance,  seeing  throe  of  tho 
uidiiiown  approaching  him  one  morning,  "walking  slowly  and 
ap]iarently  unmindful  of  any  danger,  H.abson  ensconced  himself 
behind  some  hushes  to  lie  in  wait  for  them.  He  held  his  fire 
until  they  were  come  within  a  stone's  throw  before  he  ])ulled 
the  trigger.  But  to  his  unspeakable  dismay  his  gun  Hashed  in 
the  pan,  though  he  rejjeatedly  snapped  it  at  the  phantoms,  who 
took  no  other  notice  of  him  than  to  give  him  a  disdainful  look 
as  they  walked  by.  Yet  ho  soon  afterward  sna]){)cd  the  same 
yun  several  times  in  succession,  and  it  never  once  missed  fire. 
The  goblins  had  charmed  it ! 

It  being  settled  that  these  insults  proceeded  from  spectres,  and 
not  from  beings  who  were  vulnerable  to  weapons  of  mortal  make, 

17 


in 


in  -it 
ill   'J 


IH 


258 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


;i 


I.) 


I  !■ 


the  une(iUiil  contest  was  abandoned.  When  this  was  ilonc,  tho 
demons'  occupation  being  gone,  they  too  disappeared. 

It  should  bo  said  in  conchision,  and  on  the  same  authority 
as  that  to  which  wc  owe  the  narration,  that  the  most  conserva- 
tive minds  regarded  these  occurrences  as  a  part  of  the  desc(Mit 
from  tiie  iuvisible  world  tlien  menacing  the  p  ace  of  the  Colony, 
and  threatening  the  churches  therein  with  irretrievable  disaster. 

The  poetic  version  of  this  legend  opens  witli  a  glimpse  of  the 
scene  that  is  itself  worth  a  whole  chapter  of  descrii)tion.  We 
are  then  introduced  to  the  Colonial  garrison-house,  rudely  but 
strongly  "huilt,  to  protect  the  settlers  from  their  savage  foes,  and 
to  its  valiant  defenders,  who  with  their  useless  arms  in  their 
hands  await  in  dread  the  assault  of  the  demons.  Mr.  Whittier, 
be  it  said,  is  sehlom  happier  than  when  dealing  with  the  legend- 
ary lore  extracted  from  the  old  chronicles.  In  him  the  spirit 
of  an  antiquary  and  the  feeling  of  the  poet  exist  in  as  amiable 
fellowship  as  they  did  in  Sir  AValter  Scott,  who  ransacked  the 
legends  of  Scotland  for  his  tales  in  prose  or  verse. 


'i' 


■H:tlj 


THE  GARRISON   OF  CAPE  ANN. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

Where  the  sea-waves  back  and  forward,  hoarse  with  rolling  pebbles, 

ran. 
The  garrison-house  stood  watching  on  the  gray  rocks  of  Cape  Ann  ; 
On  its  windy  site  uplifting  gabled  roof  and  palisade. 
And  rough  walls  of  unhewn  timber  with  the  moonlight  overlaid. 

Before  the  deep-mouthed  chinmey,  dimly  lit  by  dying  brands. 
Twenty  soldiers  sat  and  waited,  with  their  muskets  in  their  hands  ; 
On  the  rou"h-hewn  oaken  table  the  venison  haunch  was  shared. 
And  the  pewter  tankard  circled  slowly  round  from  beard  to  beard. 

.  .  •  • 

But  their  voices  sank  yet  lower,  sank  to  husky  tones  of  fear. 
As  they  spake  of  present  tokens  of  the  powers  of  evil  near  ; 
Of  a  spectral  host,  defying  stroke  of  steel  and  aim  of  gun  ; 
Never  yet  was  ball  to  slay  them  in  the  mould  of  mortals  v\m  ! 


OLD   ME(;,   THK   VVITCII. 


259 


Midiii-ht  came;  from  out  the  forest  moved  a  du.«kv  mass  that  mm 
r.n-w  u,  warriors,  plume.l  and  painted,  grimly  marciiinK  i"  the  jnoon. 
'(.hosts  or  witrhes,"  said  the  captain,  "thus  I  toil  the  Kvil  (>ne|" 
And  he  rammed  a  silver  button,  from  his  doublet,  down  his  -un. 

"  ( Jo.l  preserve  us  !  "  sai.l  the  .'ai.tain  ;  "  never  mortal  foes  were  there  • 
Ihey  have  vanished  with  their  leader,  I'nnce  and  Power  of  the  air  •  ' 
Lay  aside  your  useless  weapons  ;  skill  and  j.rowess  naught  avail  • 
They  who  do  the  Devil's  service  wear  their  master's  coa"t  of  mail!  " 

So  the  night  grew  near  to  cock-crow,  when  again  a  warning  call 
Roused  the  score  of  weary  s(ildiers  watching  round  the  .lusky  hall  • 
And  they  looked  to  Hint  and  priniin;,',  and  they  longed  Ibr  break  of 
day  ; 

But  the  captain  closed  his  Bible  :    "  Let  us  cease  from  man,  and 


pray 


I  » 


To  the  men  who  went  before  us,  all  the  unseen  powers  seemed  near, 
And  their  steadfast  strength  of  courage  struck  its  roots  in  holy  fear' 
Every  hand  forsook  the  musket,  every  head  was  bowed  and  bare 
Every  stout  knee  pressed  the  flagstones,  as  the  capUiin  led  in  prayer. 

Ceiised  thereat  the  mystic  marching  of  the  spectres  round  the  wall. 
But  a  sound  ai.horred,  unearthly,  smote  the  ears  and  hearts  of  all  L 
Howls  of  rage  and  shrieks  of  anguish  !   Never  after  mortal  man   ' 
Saw  the  ghostly  leaguers  marching  round  the  blockhouse  of  Cape 
Ann, 


ILD  MEG,   THE  WITCH. 

TT/^E  can  easily  bring  the  age  of  credulity  aa  far  forward  as 
V  V  the  middle  of  tlie  last  century,  by  means  of  a  local 
legend  in  which  mediicval  superstition  respecting  witches  sur- 
vives in  full  vigor.  The  test  of  the  silver  bullet  recalls  the 
weird  incantation  scene  in  "Der  Freischiitz,"  and  all  the  demon 
lore  associated  with  the  gloomy  depths  of  the  Hartz. 


^\rr- 


200 


NKW-KNdLANI)    LKCKNDS. 


Illill,!. 


II 


'I'liiTc  was  a  rcpiilt'd  witdi  \'\  \\\r  name  ut'  Margaret  Wossoii, 
and  I'aiiiiliarly  known  liy  the  name  nl'  -'Old  M(%"  who  onn^ 
riisidt'il  ill  (Iloucosti'r.  After  having  buen  lor  many  yuar.s  thu 
ol)joct  of  superstitious  curiosity  and  dread  to  tlie  inhabitants  of 
the  (.'ape,  shi!  ut  length  came  to  he-r  end  in  th((  following  strange 
und  mysterious  manner.  At  the  time  of  the  eidehralfd  victorious 
siege  of  lA)uisl)urg  by  the  (,'olonial  troops  in  1745,  two  soldiers 
of  the  Massachusetts  line  belonging  to  (iloucuster  happened  to 
have  their  attention  drawn  to  tin'  movements  of  a  crow  that 
kc[)t  hovering  oviu'  them.  They  threw  stones,  and  then  fired 
tiieir  muskets  at  it,  but  could  neither  touch  nor  terrify  it ;  the 
bird  still  continued  Hying  round  them  and  cawiiig  horribly  in 
their  oars.  At  length  it  occurred  to  one  of  them  that  it  might 
be  Old  Meg.  lie  communicated  his  suspicions  t(j  bis  comrade; 
and  as  nothing  but  silver  was  believed  tt)  have  any  jiowiir  to 
injure  a  witch,  they  cut  the  silver  l)uttons  olf  from  their  uni- 
form coats  and  discharged  them  at  the  crow.  The  experiment 
succeedwl.  At  the  lirst  shot  they  broke  its  leg  ;  at  the  second 
it  fell  dead  at  their  feet.  AVhen  they  returned  to  Gloucester, 
they  learned  that  Old  Meg  bail  broken  her  leg  while  walking 
by  the  fort  in  that  place  at  the  precise  time  wlien  they  had  shot 
and  killed  the  crow  live  hundreil  miles  distant  ;  after  lingering 
for  a  while  in  great  agony  she  iliod.  And  now  comes  the  sin- 
gular part  of  the  story  ;  for  upon  examining  her  fractured  limb, 
the  identical  silver  buttons  which  the  soldiers  had  lired  from 
their  muskets  umlcr  the  walls  of  Louisburg  were  extracted  from 
the  flesh.  The  story  of  Old  Meg  was  long  familiarly  told  in 
Gloucester,  although  the  credulity  wbi(;li  once  received  it  as 
solijiun  truth  has  nearly,  if  not  quite,  passed  away,  says  the 
IJeverend  Charles  W.  Upliam,  who  makes  the  statement  so 
lately  as  1832.  It  has,  however,  been  reproduced  among  the 
sober  records  of  fact  contained  in  Mr.  Babson's  "History  of 
Gloucester." 


^i'i 


AN    KHCAI'K    I'KOM    I'llJATKH. 


261 


AN    KSCAPK    FROM    PIRATES. 


A  (J('()IM)IN(1  t(i  the  historiim  Tliiicy.lidfs,  the  (Jiccks  wcw 
■^-^  the  lii'st  pinitcs,  Tho  aiicifut  poets  loll  u.s  that  tliosi' 
wlio  siiilcd  iiloiig  the  coasts  in  (lucst  of  i)rcy  wen-  evoiywlnTC! 
accostwl  with  the  (jiuistion,  "  whether  tiioy  were  pirates,"  not  as 
a  term  of  reproach,  luit  nf  hdior.  So  also  the  vikinj^s  of  the 
.Nortli  wen;  little  loss  than  ('orsairs,  whoso  valiant  doeils  of  arms, 
and  whose  adventurous  voyages  t„  distant  lands,  colehrated  in 
their  sagas,  were,  conceived  ami  performed  with  no  nohlor  pur- 
pose than  robl)ory. 

lint  tlu^  modern  pirate  had  iK^ither  the  rndo  sense  of  honor 
nor  th(!  chivalrous  notions  of  warfare  distinguishing  his  anciojit 
prototype.  He  was  simply  a  robber  and  a  nuuderer,  bidding  all 
honest  traders  t(.  "stand  and  deliver"  like  the  a(iuatic  highway- 
man that  lie  was.  Kven  the  mililest-mannered  man  among  them 
"that  ever  scuttleil  ship  or  cut  a  throat"  was  no  more  than 
this  ;  whih!  the  majority  were  beings  httod  by  nature  for  a  career 
of  crime,  the  Ijare  recital  of  which  makes  us  shudder. 

During  the  first  (luartor  of  the  eighteenth  century  our  own 
seas  swarmed  with  these  freebooters,  whose  depredations  upon 
our  commerce  an^  the  theme  of  some  of  the  most  startling  epi- 
sodes preserv.nl  in  the  whole  annals  of  piracy.  Blackbeard.  Low, 
and  J'hillips  stand  pre-eminent  at  the  head  of  this  black  list. 
It  is  with  the  last  that  our  story  has  to  do. 

In  tho  course  of  his  last  ])iratical  cruise,  during  which  ho 
swept  the  coast  from  Jamaica  to  Xowfoundland,  I'hillips  fell  in 
with  and  cai)tured  the  slooi)  "Dolphin,"  An<lrew  Harraden, 
master,  belonging  to  Cape  Ann.  The  "  Dolphin,"  being  a  bet- 
ter vessel  than  his  own,  tho  pirate  transferred  his  black  Hag  to 
her,  sending  tho  crow  away  in  another  of  his  prizes.  Ca[)tain 
Ilarraden  was,  however,  detained  a  prisoner  on  board  his  own 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


m  1^ 

5  0      ""'=== 


112.5 


m 2.2 


lltt 

140 


12.0 


1.8 


lA  mil  1.6 


V} 


m 


'^A 


e. 


rf) 


w 


//a 


/; 


Photograrhic 

Sciencis 
Corporjtion 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


-^^ 


A^ 


% 


V 


^^ 


:\ 


\ 


6^ 


'^.^'^ 


^  #^ 


&'. 


s 


'^^£p^' 


% 
^ 


^ 


i\ 


!T 


262 


NE W-KNOLAN I)    LEGEN DS. 


Ml" ' 


vessel.  Two  of  the  i)irate  crow,  John  Fillmore,  of  Ipswich,  and 
Edward  tJlieesiiian  were  lueu  whom  Phillips  had  taken  out  of 
the  ships  that  he  had  plundered  and  i)ressed  into  liis  service, 
thus  making  them  pirates  against  their  will.  JJeing  found  use- 
ful, Cheesman  had  been  promoted  to  the  j)ost  of  ship's  carpenter 
shortly  before  the  "  Dolphin"  was  captured.  Uoth  he  and  Fill- 
more, however,  were  brave  young  fellows,  and  both  had  fully 
dcitermincd,  come  what  might,  to  take  the  llrst  opportunity 
that  presented  itself  of  escaping  from  Phillii)s'  clutches  ;  but  the 
jealous  watchfulness  of  the  older  pirates  was  such  that  they 
could  get  no  opportunity  of  talking  to  each  other  about  what 
was  in  their  minds,  (!xcei)t  wlien  feigning  to  be  asleep,  or  when 
pretending  to  play  at  cards  together.  But  by  stealth  they  at 
length  came  to  an  understanding. 

To  Captain  Harraden  these  two  presently  broached  their  pur- 
pose ;  and  lindiug  him  ready  and  willing  to  strike  a  blow  for  the 
recovery  of  his  vessel  and  his  liberty,  they  with  four  confeder- 
ates, who  were  already  pledgiMJ  to  stand  by  them,  iixed  the  day 
Mn\  the  hour  for  making  the  hazardous  attempt. 

"When  the  appointed  hour  of  noon  had  arrived,  Cheesman,  the 
leader,  with  Fillmore  and  Harraden,  were  on  deck,  as  also  were 
Nut,  the  master  of  the  "  Dolphin,"  a  fellow  of  great  strength 
and  courage,  the  boatswain,  and  some  others  of  the  pirate  crew. 
Eut  of  all  on  board,  Xut  and  the  boatswain  were  the  two  whom 
the  conspirators  most  feared  to  encounter.  Cheesman,  however, 
promised  to  take  care  of  the  master  if  the  others  would  attend 
to  the  boatswain.  Xo  firearms  were  to  be  used.  'J'he  attack 
was  to  be  suddenly  made,  and  possession  of  the  deck  to  be 
gained,  before  the  alarm  should  spread  below. 

Cheesman,  having  left  his  working  tools  on  the  deck,  as  if  he 
were  going  to  use  them  about  the  vessel,  walked  aft  to  begin 
with  the  master ;  but  seeing  some  signs  of  timidity  in  Harraden, 
he  came  back,  gave  him  and  his  mates  a  dram  of  brandy  each, 
drinking  to  the  boatswain  and  the  master  the  toast,  "To  our 
next  merry-meeting."  He  then  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the 
deck  with  Nut,  in  order  to  occupy  the  pirate's  attention,  while 


NOHMAN.S   WOE. 


263 


Fillmore,  as  if  in  sport,  picked  up  the  carpenter's  axe  from  where 
it  was  lying,  and  began  to  twirl  it  around  on  the  point. 

This  was  tlie  signal  agreed  upon.  Cli  'sman  instantly  grap- 
pled with  the  master,  and,  Ijeing  a  man  of  powerful  frame,  after 
a  Ijrief  struggle  pitched  him  over  the  side  into  the  sea.  Fill- 
more, rushing  upon  the  Ijoatswaiu,  with  one  blow  of  the  axe 
laid  him  dead  upon  the  deck.  The  noise  of  the  scufllc  brought 
the  pirate  chief  on  deck  ;  but  (.'lieesman  quickly  disabled  him 
with  a  blow  from  the  carpenter's  mallet,  which  fractured  his  jaw- 
bone. Having  armed  himself  with  an  adze,  Harraden  then 
sprang  upon  Phillips  with  his  uphfted  wea])on ;  but  the  gunner 
of  the  pirate  interposing  between  them,  Cheesman  tripped  up 
his  heels,  throwing  him  into  the  arms  of  a  confederate,  who 
flung  him  overboard,  after  the  master.  Harraden  then  linished 
with  Phillips. 

The  conspirators  then  jumped  into  the  hold  and  fell  upon 
the  quartermaster,  who  was  the  only  officer  remaining  alive  ; 
when  a  young  lad  on  board  pleaded  so  earnestly  for  his  life  that 
he  was  spared.  The  rest  of  the  pirate  crew  being  securely  put 
in  'wowa,  the  vessel  was  steered  directly  for  Boston,  where  she 
arrived  on  the  3d  of  May,  1724,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  people  of 
the  province.  Two  of  the  Pirates,  Archer,  tlie  quartermaster, 
and  William  White,  were  tried,  convicted,  and  executed.  Fill- 
more, C'lieesman,  and  their  confederates  were  honorably  acquit- 
ted. John  Fillmore,  the  pirate  in  spite  of  himself,  was  the 
great-grandfather  of  the  thirteenth  President  of  the  United 
States. 


NORMAN'S  WOE. 


TOUCHING  the  name  of  the  rock  called  Norman's  Woe, 
little  more  is  known  than  that  Goodman  Norman  ard  hig 
son  were  among  the  first  to  settle  here ;  and  it  is  therefoic  as- 
sumed that  this  headland  and  its  outlying  islet  preserve  a  family 


BHBi 


^; 


I 


264 


NFAV-ENGLANI)   LEGENDS. 


surnainc  at  ouci;  bold  and  picture.s(|Uo.  That  no  rccdvd  is  known, 
to  explain  how  tlie  roclv  originally  received  its  name,  or  what  the 
catastriiphe  it  was  iiitond(!d  to  perpetuate,  is  (jnly  another  iji- 
stauee  oi'  tlie  instability  of  local  traditions.  ]\[any  of  the  names 
now  in  use  on  Cape  Ann  go  as  far  back  as  the  lirst  decade  of  the 
settlement.  For  instance,  Kettle  Island  and  I]ake!''s  Island  were 
named  beft)re  lG;]t.  This  one,  like  Thacher's  Island,  is  ])ro- 
bably  commemorative  of  some  uncommon  individual  (sxperience 
or  disaster ;  liut  whatever  that  may  have  been,  its  memory  is 
probably  lost  beyond  recovery. 


i 


NORM  AX  S    WOE    ROCK. 


Not  lost  its  claim  to  a  wider  celebrity  than  some  of  our  most 
famous  battlefields,  for  it  is  the  scene  so  vividly  described  in 
Longfellow's  "  Wreck  of  the  '  TTesporus.' " 

In  his  biographical  sketch  of  the  poet  Longfellow,  IMr.  Francis 
H.  Underwood  says  of  this  ballad  that  it  "is  deservedly  ad- 
mired, especially  for  the  vigor  of  its  descriptions.  It  is,"  he 
continues,  "  i.u  truth  a  ballad  such  as  former  centuries  knew,  and 
which  are  seldom  written  now.  Its  free  movement,  directness, 
and  pictorial  power  condiine  to  make  it  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able of  the  author's  poems." 


H 


nokman's  woe. 


265 


Yet  INIr.  Fields,  tlio  ]inet'.s  genial  IViond  and  whilom  his  i)uh- 
lisher,  says  that  the  "Wreck  of  the  '  Hesperus '  "  hanlly  eaused 
its  autlior  an  elfurt.     Tiie  facts  with  regard  to  its  composition 
are  these:  After  a  dreadful  gale  in  the  winter  of  18:3!),  which 
strewed  the  coast  with  wrecks,  he  had  been  reading  the  cata- 
logue of  its  disasters   with   which  the  ii'-wspapers   wore  lilled. 
The  stormy  Cape  had  rea])ed  its  full  share  of  this  terrible  har- 
vest.    Forty  dead  bodies,  among  them  that  of  a  woman  lashed 
to  a   piece  „f  wreck,  had  b(>en  washed    up  on  the  Gloucester 
shore.     One  of  the  lost  vessels  was  named  the  "  Hesperus,"  and 
the  name  of  Norman's  AVo.^  now  met  his  eye,  —  porhai)s  for  the 
lirst  time.     The  event  impressed  him  so  deeply  that  he  deter- 
mined to  write  a  ballad  upon  it.     Late  one  night^is  he  .sat  by  the 
fire  smoking  his  pipe,  the  whole  scene  came  vividly  into   his 
mind;  and  under  the  absorbing  impulse  of  the  moment,  taking 
his  pen,  he  wrote  this  most  graphic  of  ballads.     He  then  went  to 
bed,  iMit,  as  he  tells  us,  not  to  sleep  ;  for  new  thoughts  were  run- 
ning in  his  head  which  kept  him  awake.      He  rose  and  added 
them  to  the  first  draught.     At  three  in  the  morning  he  had  fin- 
ished the  ballad  as  it  stands. 

Although,  in  point  of  fact,  no  such  vessel  as  the  "  Hesperus  " 
was  wrecked  on  the  reef  of  Xorman's  ^Voe,  the  poet's  versified 
story  is  founded  ujwn  a  real  incident,  to  whidi  tlie  use  of  these 
names  lends  a  terriljle  interest.  In  one  sense,  therefore,  this 
l)alla.l  belongs  to  the  legendary ;  but  by  the  poet's  genius  it  is 
now  firmly  associated  with  the  surf-beaten  rock  of  C^apo  Ann, 
whose  name  of  terror,  derived  from  some  unrecorded  disaster,' 
found  no  reason  for  its  being,  until  a  few  strokes  of  the  pen  gave 
it  iunnortality. 

From  being  merely  the  scene  of  a  wreck,  Norman's  Woe  has 
become  a  spot  consecrated  by  genius,  ft  is,  therefore,  no  com- 
mon rock,  but  a  moiuiraont  to  :\[r.  Longfellow  far  more  sug- 
gestive and  enduring  than  any  memorial  shaft  that  the  most 
reverent  hands  may  raise  over  his  honored  dust.  "  The  letter 
killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life," 

The  ballad  is,  as  iMr.  Underwood  says,  written  in  the  quaint 


S^iBIHS 


t     2  i. 


I' 


'  j 


h 


■lit; 


i:  t: 


266 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


old  manner ;  buf  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  it  has  tlie  genuine 
ring,  nervous  action,  sonorous  rhythm,  and  unmistakable  Havor 
of  the  sea  throughout.  Those  stanzas  descriptive  of  the  increas- 
ing fury  of  the  gale  have  never  been  surpassed  in  the  language. 

Colder  anil  louder  Mew  the  wind, 

A  giile  from  the  Northeast, 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

Ami  tlir  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 


And  fast  through  the  nudnight  daik  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  ileef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  sides 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared  ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  hleak  scni-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fail', 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 


HANNAH    BINDING   SHOES. 


267 


HANNAH   IJINDING   SHOES. 


"Bevkim.v  Faums,  Mass.,  IVc.  22,  1874. 

"Dear  Sir,  —  xVs  to  'llaimairs'  lom/r,  it  is  haid  to  ilctciiiiiiK-. 
I  iiswl  to  see  her  at.  all  llic  windows  in  Bevorlv  when  I  Mas  a  little 
child  ;  bnt  I  saw  her  more  distiiietly,  alxuit  twenty  years  ago,  on 
the  road  between  iVverly  and  Marhlehead.  I  think  she  lived  in  the 
latter  place  ([uite  as  innch  as  at  the  former.  You  see  my  lionie  was 
ill  Beverly,  and  we  Beverly  children  were  rather  ui'raid  of  tlie  Marhle- 
headers  ;  they  had  the  reputation  of 'rocking'  their  iieiguhors  out 
of  town.  I  sus])ect,  on  the  whole,  that  'Hannah'  must  have  Ix'en 
a  tramp,  and  hound  shoes  anywhere  she  put  tip.  I\[r.  AVood,  who 
painleil  her  picture,  says  he  was  shown  her  house  in  Marhleliead, 
and  he  ought  to  know. 

"  But  I  have  honestly  told  you  all  I  know  about  her,  except  as  a 
lodger  ill  my  imagination. 

"Sincerely  ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  I  am  truly  yours, 

"Lucy  Larcom." 

Poor  lone  Hannah, 
Sitting  at  the  window  binding  shoes! 

Faded,  wrinkled. 

Sitting,  stitching  in  a  mournful  muse. 

Bright-eyed  beauty  once  was  she 

When  the  bloom  was  on  the  tree. 

Spring  and  winter 

Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 

Not  a  neighbor 
Passing  nod  or  answer  will  refu.se 

To  her  whisper : 
"  Is  there  from  the  fishers  any  news  ] " 
Oh,  her  heart 's  adrift  with  one 
On  an  endless  voyage  gone  ! 
Xight  and  morning 
Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 


268 


lip 


N  K  \V  - 1'.  N  ( i  L  A  N I )    L IKI E  N I  )S. 

Fair  yrniiij,'  ir.iniiali 
I'on,  the  suii-LiiMit  lishcr  <,'ayly  wooes! 

Hale  and  clever, 
For  a  williiiLT  heart  ami  iiaiul  he  sues. 


rOOE  LONE   UAUiNAH. 


May-day  skies  are  all  aglow, 
And  the  waves  are  laughing  so  ! 
For  her  wedding, 
Hannah  leaves  her  window  and  her  shoes. 


HANNAH    BINDING    SHOES. 

May  is  passing,  — 
Mid  tlic  apiilc-boiij^'hs  a  pigeon  cones. 

Hannah  sliuddLTs, 
For  th(;  wild  soir'-wustur  niisciiief  brews, 
JJound  tin;  roL'ks  of  MailileluMii, 
Outward  itoiuid,  a  sehuoner  spud. 
Silent,  ionesonie, 
Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 

'T  is  November ; 
Now  no  tear  her  wasted  cheek  bedews. 

From  Newi'oundland 
Not  a  sail  returning  will  she  lose  ; 
Whispering  hoarsely,  "Fishermen, 
Have  you,  have  you  heard  of  Eeu  I" 
Old  with  watching, 
Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 

Twenty  winters 
Bleach  and  tear  the  rugged  shore  she  views ; 

Twenty  seasons  ;  — 
Never  one  has  brought  her  any  news. 
Still  her  dim  eyes  silently 
Chase  the  white  sails  o'er  the  sea. 
Hopeless,  faithful 
Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 


2G9 


'i  m 


1 

! 

'  1 

n    , 

k 

1 
i 

1 1 


S>art  «S>ebcntJ). 


IPSWICH    AND    NEWBURY    LEGENDS. 


Ill  1^ 


irSWlCII   LEGENDS. 


/^LD   IPSWICH  is  ono  of  tho  most  deliglitfiil  corners  into 
^^-^     wliicli  the  artist  or  tlic  unti(iiiary  could  havo  tho  good 
lurtunc  to  stray,  for  liore  oitlier  will  liud  al.un.lant  occupation. 
Its  physiognomy  is  old,  its  atmosphere  drowsy,   its   cpiiot  un- 
broken.    The  best  residences  are  still  the  oLicst  ones,  and  among 
them  are  some  very  <juaint  specimens  of  the  early  Colonial  andii" 
tecture,  upon  which  time  seems  to  have  made  little  impression  ; 
while  here  and  tla-re  others  stand  up  mere  crazy  hulks,  so  shaken' 
and  dilapidated  inside  and  out,  that  every  -ale  threatens  to  bring 
them  down  witli  a  loud  crash  into  the  cellars  beneath.     Some  of 
thos(!  have  the  reputation  of  being  hauntcid  houses,  and  are  of 
■course  enveloped  in  mystery, —and  in.leed  the  Avhole   atmos- 
phere of  the  place  is  thick  with  legendary  lore,  which  the  old 
people  drop  their  voices  when  they  are  relating. 

To  me  now  there  is  no  more  striking  picture  than  that  of 
some  such  crazy  old  structure,  trembling,  as  the  wind  shak.-s  it, 
like  an  old  man  with  the  palsy,  its  windows  gaping  wide,  its 
chimney  bent  and  tottering,  the  fire  on  its  hearthstone  extin- 
guished forever,  the  path  to  it  overgrown  with  weeds,  the  old 
well  choked  up  with  rubbish  and  poisonous  ivv, —everything 
expressing  irretrievable  decay,  —  standing  in  the\nidst  of  a  still 
Vigorous  orchard  just  putting  forth  its  sweet  perennial  bloom, 

18 


IBI 


274 


NEW-EN(iLANI)   LECIKNDS. 


: 


Avitli  the  fresh  and  teuder  grass  civciiiiig  up  to  the  bnikcu 
tlirt'sliold,  as  if  Nature  claimed  adiuittaiicc,  and  would  not  lie 
much  lunger  denied.  Tiiat  huuso,  yuu  are  told,  was  huilt  two 
centuries  ago.  Where  are  the  builders;  and  whore  the  genera- 
tions that  came  al'tisr  them  I  The  (dd  well-sweep  creaks  mourn- 
fidly  in  the  wind,  and  points  its  bony  linger  to  the  sky.  Vet 
here  are  the  trc  that  they  planted,  still  putting  forth  their 
buds,  like  mortal    /utting  on  immortality. 

It  is  natural,  1  think,  in  such  a  place  to  try  to  imagine  the 
first-comers  looking  aV)out  them.  How  did  it  look;  what  did 
they  think  ?  Tliey  were  a  mere  handful,  —  the  apostolic  num- 
ber,— -a  vanguard  sent  to  establish  a  senu-military  jjost.  Upon 
ascending  the  hill  above  the  river  they  found  an  outcropping 
ledge  of  goodly  extent,  f(^ruiing  a  sort  of  natural  platiorm,  iind 
ui)on  this  rock  they  built  their  church,  Mduch  subsequently  be- 
came so  famous  throughout  the  Colony  under  the  successive 
ministrations  of  Ward,  IJogers,  Norton,  and  llid)ljard, — all 
men  eminent  for  their  learning  and  piety.  Satan  himself  was 
not  able  to  prevail  against  it ;  for  uiiou  the  smooth  ledge  out- 
side is  still  seen  the  distinct  print  of  his  .salile  majesty's  cloven 
foot,  when  he  was  hurled  from  the  pinnach;  to  the  ground  for 
attempting  to  conceal  himself  within  the  sanctuary. 

in  an(»ther  place,  down  by  the  river  side,  the  house  ■where 
Harry  Main  lived  is  i)ointed  out  to  theA'isitor.  He  having  thus  a 
local  habitation,  the  legend  concerning  him  is  no  vagabond  tra- 
dition. Harry  Main  is  the  Wandering  dew  of  Ipswich,  around 
whom  darkly  hangs  the  shadow  of  an  unpardonable  crime  and 
its  fearful  doom.  It  is  said  that  he  had  been  by  turns  a  pirfite, 
a  smuggler,  and  a  wrecker,  who  followed  the  wicked  trade  of 
building  fires  on  the  saiuls,  in  order  to  decoy  vessels  among 
the  breakers,  where  they  were  wrecked,  and  their  ci'cws  perished 
miserably.  For  these  crimes,  at  his  death  he  was  doomed  to  be 
chained  on  Ipswich  Bar,  the  scene  of  his  former  nuirderous  ex- 
ploits, and  everlastingly  to  coil  a  cable  of  sand  there.  When 
the  "able  broke,  his  demoniacal  yells  of  bailled  rage  could  be 
heard  for  miles  around ;    and  when   those   fearful  sounds  an- 


wrr  !•<  f m  imtiMMrir'"!'  iWi 


• 


IPSWICH    LKCaiNDS. 


275 


iiounecd  tho  rising  gale,  raotliors  would  clasp  their  babes  to  their 
breasts,  while  the  men  shoolv  their  heads  and  said,  "Old  Harry's 
growling  again  1  "  His  name  was  long  tho  bugbear  used  to 
frighten  refraetory  eliildren  into  obedienee,  while  the  rote  on 
the  bar,  heard  in  storms,  still  audibly  per])etuates  the  legend, 
with  its  roar. 

The  old  people  living  on  Plum  Island  used  to  say  that  Harry 


PADLOCK   AND    KKY,    IPSWKU   JAIL. 

]\Iain's  ghost  troubled  them  by  wandering  about  tlie  sand-hills 
on  stormy  nights,  so  that  they  were  afraid  to  venture  out  of  doors 
after  dark.  Indeed  the  town  its(df,  in  its  palmy  days,  was  so 
full  of  ghostly  legends,  that  certain  h)ealities  suiiposed  to  be 
haunted,  were  scrupulously  avoided  by  the  timid  ones,  who  had 
a  mortal  dread  of  being  accosteil  by  some  vagal)ond  sjiectre  with 
its  tale  of  horror. 

Harry   Main's  house  —  for  we  must  remember  that  he  had 


''!i 


276 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


one  —  was  ransacKed,  and  every  rod  of  tlie  garden  dug  up  for 
the  money  that  lie  was  supposed  to  liave  Ijuried  there  ;  but 
nothing  rewarded  tlie  search.  Other  i)laces,  too,  liave  been  ex- 
])lored  with  the  same  residt,  in  (juest  of  Kichl's  liidden  treasures. 
One  good  man  dreamed  three  nights  in  succession  tliat  vast  sums 
were  buried  in  a  certain  hill  in  the  town.  lie  could  see  the 
very  spot.  Haunted  by  the  realism  of  the  dream,  he  determincid 
to  test  the  matter  for  liimself ;  and  one  dark  night,  just  as  mid- 
night struck,  he  took  his  spade,  his  lantern,  and  his  Bible,  and 
started  on  his  weird  (irrand.  L^])()n  reaching  the  spot  he  recog- 
nized it  as  tlie  same  that  he  had  seen  in  his  dream.  He  imme- 
diately fell  to  work.  After  plying  his  spade  vigorously  a  while, 
it  struck  against  some  hard  olyect.  He  now  felt  sure  of  his 
prize.  Scraping  the  earth  away  witli  feverish  haste,  he  came 
to  a  flat  stone  having  a  bar  of  iron  laid  across  it.  This  he 
eagerly  grasped  with  one-  hand,  and  was  about  to  turn  the  stone 
over  with  the  otlier  when  he  Avas  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  troop 
of  cats,  Avhose  eyeballs  blazed  in  the  darkness.  The  digger  felt 
his  hair  slowly  rising  on  end.  A  cold  sweat  stood  on  his  brow. 
Brandishing  the  bar  aloft,  he  cried  out,  "  Scat  1 "  when  these  vig- 
ilant guardians  of  the  treasure  vanished  in  a  twinkling,  leaving 
the  crestfallen  money-digger  standing  up  to  his  middle  in  cold 
water,  which  had  poured  into  the  hole,  when  he  broke  the  spell 
by  speakiuj'  Half  drowned,  and  wholly  disgusted,  he  crawled 
out  of  it.  The  iron  bar,  however,  remained  tightly  clutched  in 
his  hand.  He  carried  it  home,  and  I  was  assured  that  upon 
going  to  a  certain  house  in  Ipswich  I  might  see  the  identical 
door-latch  which  a  smith  had  made  out  of  this  bar  for  a  souvenir 
of  the  night's  adventure. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  many  stories  which  Mr.  [Morgan  has 
picturesquely  grouped  together  in  his  poem  entitled  "  Old  Ips- 
wich Town,"  —  a  charming  bit  of  reminiscence,  and  charmingly 
told. 


OLD   IPSWICH   TOWN. 


277 


OLD   1P8WICH  TOWN. 


Al'PLETON    MORGAN. 

I  LOVE  to  tfiiiik  of  old  Ipswich  town, 
Old  Ipswich  tnwn  in  the  East  ccmntree, 

Whence,  on  the  tide,  you  can  lloat  down 

Through  the  long  salt  grass  to  the  wailing  sea. 

Where  the  "  Mayflower  "  dril't(!d  oil'  the  bar 
Sea- worn  and  weary,  long  years  ago, 

And  dared  not  enter,  but  sailed  away 

Till  she  landed  her  boats  in  Plymouth  Bay. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town. 

Where  Whitetield  preached  in  tin)  church  on  the  hill, 
Driving  out  the  Devil  till  he  leaped  down 

From  the  steeple's  top,  where  they  show  you  still, 
Imbedded  deep  in  the  solid  I'ock, 

The  indelible  print  of  his  cloven  hoof, 
And  tell  you  the  Devil  has  never  shown 
Face  or  hoof  since  that  day  in  the  honest  town. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town, 

Where  they  shut  up  the  witches  until  the  day 

When  they  should  be  roasted  so  thoroughly  brown, 
In  Salem  YiUage,  twelve  miles  away  ; 

They  've  moved  it  off  for  a  stable  now  ; 

But  there  are  the  holes  where  the  stout  jail  stood, 

And,  at  night,  they  say  that  over  tlie  holes 

You  can  see  the  ghost  of  Go<idy  Coles. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ijiswich  town  ; 

That  house  to  your  right,  a  rod  or  more. 
Where  the  stern  old  elm-trees  seem  to  frown 

If  you  peer  too  hard  through  the  open  door, 
Sheltered  the  regicide  judges  throe 

When  the  royal  sherifls  were  after  them, 
And  a  ([ueer  old  villager  once  I  met, 
Who  says  in  the  cellar  they  're  living  yet. 


278 


NKW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


:.|l 


1  lovo  to  tliink  of  old  Ipswicli  town  ; 

JliUTy  Miiiu  —  you  liavu  heard  tlic  tale  —  lived  there  ; 
lie  lilasplieiiied  (Jod,  so  they  ]iut  him  down 

Willi  an  iron  shovel,  at  Ipswich  Bar  ; 
They  chained  him  there  lor  a  thousand  years, 

As  the  sea  rolls  up  to  shovel  it  hack  ; 
Po  when  the  sea  cries,  the  i^'oodwives  say 
"  Harry  Main  growls  at  his  work  to-day." 


IPSWini    IIKAOS. 


I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town  ; 

There  's  a  ;,'raveyard  up  on  the  (dd  High  street, 
Where  ten  generations  are  looking  down 

On  the  one  that  is  toiling  at  their  feet  ; 
Where  the  stones  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder,  liki'  troop 

Drawn  up  to  receive  a  cavalry  charge. 
Anil  graves  have  l)een  dug  in  graves,  till  the  sod 
Is  the  mould  of  good  men  gone  to  God. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town, 
Old  Ipswich  town  in  the  East  countree, 

Whence,  on  the  tide,  you  can  float  down 

Through  the  long  salt  grass  to  the  wailing  sea, 

And  lie  all  day  on  the  glassy  l)each, 

And  learn  tin'  lesson  the  green  waves  teach. 

Till  at  sunset,  from  surf  and  seaweed  brown, 

You  are  pulling  back  to  Ipswich  town. 


^li--- 


IIEAUTIiKEAK    HILL. 


279 


Ipswich  contains  many  iuterestini,'  incinnvials  of  its  anticjue 
worthies  and  tiint'ri.  hi  tlic  Old  Hill  l)iiryin<,'-j,'r(»unil  on  Ili^h 
Street  may  be  t'uund  ineontestable  proofs  to  the  rank  held  by 
some  of  the  Ibiinders,  in  the  family  arms  that  are  seulptured  on 
the  aneient  tombstones;  but  you  will  not  liml  tlu;  j^ravestone 
of  the  IJeverend  William  Hubbard,  the  historian  of  Xew  Eng- 
land, there,  because  no  one  knows  tiie  sp(jt  wlusre  he  is  buried. 


HEARTBREAK   TIILL. 


TUUXIXO  away  from  the  town  through  unfre(|uented  by- 
lanes,  all  green  and  spotted  with  daisies,  let  us  ascend 
Ileartljreak  Hill  in  the  southeast  corner.  The  view  is  certainly 
charming.  The  reader  asks  what  we  sgo  ;  and,  like  one  on  a 
tower,  we  reply  :  In  the  distance,  across  a  lonely  waste  of 
marshes,  through  which  glistening  tidal  streams  crawl  on  tlieir 
bellies  among  reeds,  and  sun  their  glossy  ])ack3  among  sand- 
dunes,  we  see  the  bald  Ipswich  Hundreds,  a  grouj)  of  smooth, 
gray-green,  desolate-looking  hills  stretched  along  the  coast. 
They  are  isolated  by  these  marslies  from  the  mainland,  which 
they  seem  trying  to  rejoin.  Through  the  openings  between 
these  hills  we  catch  the  glitter  of  a  ragged  line  of  sai-d-dunes 
heaped  up  like  snow-drifts  at  the  edge  of  the  shon;,  over  wiiich 
rises  the  sea,  and  the  harbor-i)ar,  overspread  with  foam. 

It  being  a  clear  day,  we  can  see  from  Capi;  Ann  as  far  as 
Cape  Xeddock,  and  all  that  lies  or  floats  between  ;  but  for  leagues 
the  coa.st  is  sad  and  drear,  and  from  the  sand,  intrenching  it 
everywhere  with  a  natural  dyke,  the  eye  turns  gratefully 
upon  the  refreshing  sea.  Then,  as  the  ]\Iaine  coast  sweeps 
gracefully  round  to  the  east,  the  blue  domes  of  Agamenticus  rise 
above  it,  while  the  long  dark  land-line  .shoots  off  into  the  ocean, 
diminishing  gradually  from  the  mountain,  like  a  nuisical  phrase 
whose  last  note  we  strive  to  catch  long  after  it  has  died  away. 


111.  I 


280 


NEW- ENGLAND  LEGENDS. 


m 


lit 


¥ 


Ticneath  us  is  a  narrow  valley  throu</h  which  a  river  runs 
with  speed.  The  tnwii  occupies  Imtli  banks,  which  rise  into 
considerable  ciiiineiices  above  it.  All  around  are  the  evidences  of 
long  occupation  of  the  land,  —  tields  that  have  bfirne  crops,  and 
trees  that  have  been  growing  for  centuries;  houses  whose  steep 
roofs  descend  almost  to  the  ground  ;  graveyards  whose  mossed 
stones  lean  this  way  and  tlmt  with  age.  Finally,  the  traditions 
that  we  are  i.;i\villing  to  see  expire,  cast  a  jileasiiig  glamour  ovei 
the  place,  —  soniethiii;^  like  the  shadows  which  the  ancient  elms 
fling  down  upon  the  hot  and  dusty  roads. 


MEN    OF    MAKK. 


Ill 


, 


^'.i 


The  river  shoots  through  the  gray  arches  of  a  picturestpie 
stone  bridge  out  upon  the  broad  levels  of  marsh  land  stretching 
seaward.  Through  these  it  loiters  quietly  along  down  to  the 
sea.  At  the  town  it  is  an  eager  mill-stream  ;  at  the  ocean  it  is 
as  calm  as  a  mill-pond.  The  tide  brings  in  a  few  hshing-boats, 
but  seldom  anything  larger ;  for  it  is  no  longer  an  avenue  of 
commerce,  as  in  bygone  days. 

The  oldest  of  Ipswich  legends  is  associated  with  this  hill,  and 
accounts  for  its  n^-"-  ;  though  the  obscurity  surrounding  its  ori- 
gin baflles  any  attempt  to  trace  it  to  an  authentic  source,  ^'he 
name  is  however  found  upon  the  earliest  records  of  the  town, 
and  it  is  probably  as  old  as  the  se'tlement,  which  was  begun 


THE   MAIDEN  S   WATCn. 


282 


nkw-enc;land  legends. 


i 


l)y  tho  whiti.'s  in  10.3.')  as  ii  check  to  the  cxpnctcd  cncroiiclimnnts 
(if  Card  hull  Uichclieu's  colony,  then  established  in  Acailia.  IJiit 
before  this,  wn  know,  from  Captain  Smith,  that  tlie  jilace  was 
tlio  most  populous  Indian  .settlement  in  all  Massa(diMsetts  IJay, 
it  beinj^j  the  seat  of  a  jjowerful  sagamore,  and  known  by  its  In- 
dian name  of  A;^Mwam.  That  a  few  white  people  were  living 
among  the  Indians  here  previous  to  IG.'Sf)  is  evident  from  tho 
tenor  of  one  of  the  lirst  recordcid  acts  of  the  new  Colony,  dated 
Septen.jer  7,  HJ^O,  commanding  those  that  were  jilanled  at 
Agawam  forthwith  to  come  away.  It  is  perliaps  to  this  early 
time  that  the  le;^.iid  of  Heartbreak  Hill  refers,  since  it  is  kn(jwn 
that  the  Agawams  were  a  docile  and  hospitable  people,  wIkj 
welcomed  the  coming  of  the  English  among  them  with  open 
arms;  and  it  is  also  known  that  the  place  Avas  more  or  less 
fretpiented  by  the  Knglish  lishing-ships. 

lirielly,  the.  legend  relates  the  njiiiantic  story  rf  an  Indian 
maiden  who  tell  in  love  with  a  white  sailor,  and  upon  his  sailing 
for  a  distant  land,  she  used  to  climb  this  hill  and  i)ass  her  days 
sitting  njion  the  snmnut  Avatching  for  his  return.  But  the 
months  and  years  passed  without  bringing  any  tidings  of  him. 
He  never  did  come  back  ;  and  still  the  deserted  one  watched  and 
waittid,  until  she  i)ined  away,  and  at  length  died  of  a  broken 
heart.  There  is  a  ledge  on  the  summit  wdiere  the  Indian  girl 
sat  watching  ibr  her  lover's  return  ;  and  M-hen  she  died,  her  lonely 
grave  was  made  by  the  side  of  it.  Uy  others  the  legend  is  dif- 
ferently related.  Some  say  that  as  the  girl  on(>  day  wended  her 
way  wearily  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  she  saw  her  lover's  vessel 
making  the  desperate  attempt  to  gain  the  i)ort  in  the  height  of 
a  violent  gale.  IJut  it  drove  steadily  on  among  the  breakers, 
and  was  dashed  to  pieces  iind  swallowed  up  before  her  eyes. 
In  her  poem  Mrs.  Thaxter  adoj)ts  the  former  version,  which,  if 
less  tragic,  appeals  in  a  more  subtle  way  to  our  symjiathies. 
In  any  case  the  hill  has  becf)me  a  monument  to  faithful  affec- 
tion, and  as  such  is  tho  favorite  resort  of  lovers  in  all  the 
country  round. 


Ili-.AUTBItKAK    HILL. 


283 


UK  A  I!  ri5liKAK     11  1  1.  L. 

CKI.IA    TllAXTKIl. 

In  Ipswich  town,  not  I'ar  liom  lln;  sea, 

Kisi's  a  hill  wliirh  tlic  puoplc  cull 
Ileurtbiviik  llili,  ami  iis  liistory 

Is  iui  old,  old  l(;4fnil.  known  to  all. 

It  was  a  sailor  who  won  tlir  lieail 

Ui'au  Indian  niaiilcn,  lillu,'  and  yonn;^' ; 

And  siir  saw  lain  ovur  ihi;  sea  di'iiarl, 

Wlnir  swci't  in  Iut  ear  his  pionnsi'  vuw^; 

For  iir  I'lii'il,  as  liu  kissed  her  wet  eyes  dry, 

"1  '11  come  hack,  sweetheart  ;  keep  your  iaitii  I" 

She  said,  "  1  will  watcli  wliile  liie  moons  ^m  i)y." 
Her  love  was  stronger  than  life  or  death. 

So  this  ])oor  dusk  Ariadne  kept 

]ler  watch  from  the  liili-top  ruLrged  and  steep  ; 
Slowly  the  empty  moments  crept 

Wliile  she  studied  the  changin,^  lace  of  the  deep, 

Fastening  her  eyes  upon  every  sjiei  k 
That  crossed  the  ocean  within  her  ken  ; 

Might  not  her  lover  he  walking  the  deck. 
Surely  and  swiftly  returning  again  V 

The  Isles  of  Shoals  loomed,  lonely  uud  dim, 
Tu  the  northeast  distance  I'ar  and  gray, 

And  on  tlie  horizon's  uttermost  rim 

The  low  rock  heap  of  IJooiie  Island  lay. 


Oh,  hut  the  weary,  merciless  days, 

With  tlie  sun  above,  with  the  sea  afar, — 

No  change  in  her  fixed  and  wistful  ga/e 
From  the  morning-red  to  the  evening  star! 


w 


284  nk\v-en(;lani)  li:(;enijs. 

Liko  ii  sIciuliT  HtiitiU!  carvt'd  of  stone 
She  sat,  with  liardly  motion  or  breutli. 

She;  wept  no  tears  ami  she  iiiaiic  no  moan, 
But  hur  h)ve  was  stronj,'i'r  than  lil'e  or  death. 

He  never  came  hack !     Vet,  I'aithful  still, 
She  watched  from  the  hill-top  her  life  away. 

And  the  townsl'(dk  christened  it  Heartbreak  Hill, 
And  it  bears  the  name  to  this  very  day. 


NEWIU'UYI'OUT    LEGENDS. 


i: 


L 


ICT  lus  stroll  a  little  about  the  city  ol'  Mewburyport  and  its 


Upon  lniivin,t,f  Ip.swich  the  landscape  ^tows  less  austere.  The 
Hat  Kowley  marshes  succeed  the  rocky  pastures  and  tumbling 
hills,  with  their  stillly-upright  cedars  and  their  shut-in  vistas,  like 
a  calm  alter  a  storm.  Then  we  glide  on  among  haycocks,  stand- 
ing up  out  of  the  inflowing  tide,  across  the  beautiful  and  peace- 
ful prairie  of  Old  2sewd)ury,  and  arc  suddenly  brought  up  by  a 
ridge  of  high  land,  lifting  its  green  wall  between  us  and  the 
basin  of  the  Merrimack.  At  thu  rigbt,  thrust  up  through  the 
tops  of  the  elm-trees  that  hiile  the  villigc,  like  a  spear  tipped 
with  gold, 

springs  the  village  spire 
With  the  crest  of  its  cock  in  the  sun  afire. 

That  is  old  Newbury  meeting-house.  Extending  now  far 
along  the  slopes  of  the  ridge  as  we  approach  it,  are  the  city 
cemeteries,  whose  mingled  gray  and  white  monuments  throng 
the  green  swells  —  a  multitude  of  spectators  turned  into  stone. 
Then,  cutting  through  the  ridge,  the  train  plunges  into  the 
darkness  of  a  tunnel,  soon  emerging  again  upon  the  farther 
slope  among  the  city  streets  from  which  the  broad  wliite  sheet 
of  the  Merrimack  is  seen  moving  steadily  out  to  sea.     One  side 


h 


m^'r 


NEWBUUYl'OllT    LKUKNUS. 


285 


of  tlioso  heights  thou  i.s  apprui)riiit(Hl  hy  tlie  living,  tlio  otlier 
by  tho  (lead. 

Tlio  luo.st  rer.iiii'kable  uiul  lUsciiutiiig  i)l)Je(;t  in  Ihi'  iiuulsoiipe 
now  is  tho  river. 

Tho  liivor  Merriiuiick,  when  near  tlio  eml  ol'  its  long  course, 
expiinds  into  a  noble  basin  enclosed  within  tho  sweep  ol'  piotur- 
e-sipiely  grouped  and  broken  highlands.  It  is  hero  every  inch  a 
river,  broad,  deep,  clear,  and  sparkling.      (Jn  one  side  are   the 


1 


•v-  ^ 


BKArON,   SALISBURY   rOINT. 

hills  of  Amesbury  and  Salisbury,  on  the  other  side  the  city  of 
Newburyport  rises  from  the  curved  shore  to  the  summit  of  the 
ridge,  crowned  Avith  trees  and  spiked  with  steeples. 

Down  below  the  city  and  toward  the  sea  all  this  changes. 
The  high  shores  drop  into  fens,  marshes,  and  downs.  A  long, 
low  island  thrusts  itself  half  across  the  channel  and  blockades  it. 
Beyond  this  again  tho  sea  breaks  heavily  on  the  low  bar  outt'ide, 
and  the  river  disappears  in  a  broken  line  of  foam.  ' 

One  loving  and  reverential  hand  has  stamped  all  this  region 
with  the  impress  of  his  genius,  and  so  has  made  all  the  world 


•J86 


NKW-KNdLANI)   LKGKNDH. 


|iiU'liik('i's  ol'liis  iiwii  I'rcliu^  I'lir  the  rainiliiir  .seniles  ho  tU'scribcs. 
Aiiii'sliiiry  is  Wliitticr's  li(tini',  i\u:  M<!rrimiit;k  his  uutUiliuy 
thumii.      lioiv  arc!  his  surnminliii.i^s  :  — 

Stii'aiii  III'  my  ratiuJi's  I  sweetly  still 
Tlie  sunset  iiiyH  thy  valley  till  ; 
I'diiicil  t-laiil\visc  down  the  Imi,:;  (Idile, 
Wave,  wnod,  and  ^\>\\v  lieiieath  them  smilo. 
I  see  the  winding,'  I'ownw  loKl 
The  1,'reeii  liill  in  its  Indt  nl'^'dld, 
And  I'dlldwiii^'  down  its  wavy  line. 
Its  sjiaikliii^'  waters  lileiid  with  lliine. 
There's  not  a  tree  upon  tliy  side, 
Nor  rock  which  thy  returnini,'  tide 
As  yet  hath  left  al)ruiit  and  stark 
Ahove  thy  (jveiiiii},'  water-mark, 

•  •  t  •  • 

But  lies  distinct  and  full  in  sij^lit, 
I'eiiealh  this  ^'Ush  of  summer  li^'ht. 

Ill  the  same  spirit,  which  hy  a  so/t  ol'  poetic  alchemy  seems 
cupable  of  eonvortiiig  the  waste  sand.-  uf  the  seashore  into  grains 
of  gold,  Mrs.  Spoll'ord  has  described  the  njjproaidies  to  the  river 
through  the  ihit  higuoiis  that  furnish  a  circulation  to  the  marshes. 

We  floated  in  the  idle  breeze, 

With  all  our  sails  a-shiver  : 
The  shining'  tide  came  softly  through, 

And  tilled  Tlum  Island  River. 


') 


■I! 

.1 


And  clear  the  flood  of  silver  swung 
Between  the  brimming  edges  ; 

And  now  the  depths  were  dark,  and  now 
The  boat  slid  o'er  the  .sedges. 

And  hero  a  yellow  sand-spit  foamed 
Amid  the  great  sea-iueadows  ; 

And  here  the  .slumberous  waters  gloomed 
Lucid  in  emerald  shadows. 


NKWHUUVl'OItT    LKdKNhS. 


•287 


• 


•  I 


Arouiul  tlu;  simiiy  tlistance  rose 

A  Itliic  iiiiil  lui/y  lii^'Iiliiiiil, 
And  wiiiiliii;;  diiwii  our  winding'  wny 

Tim  saiul-hills  ul'  riiim  I.sluud. 

From  tho  doiHuin  (d"  poidry  wr  puss  easily  into  that  id"  history. 

Mr.  -lohii  (iuincy  Aduius  unco  described  Siheria  as  heiii^'  cele- 
brated fur  its  malefactors  and  mala.  hite.  Souks  one,  in  an  epi- 
grammatic vein,  has  summed  up  Neud)uryport  as  hein;,'  famous 
for  piety  and  privateering  ;  and  the  analogy  .seems  established 
when  one  turns  to  the  History  of  Newbury  written  V)y  Whittier's 
ohl  schoolmaster,  .Joshua  ColUn,  and  reads  there  that  the  pri- 
vateersmen  on  putting  to  sea  were  accustomed  to  re.iuest  the 
prayers  (d"  the;  (dmndies  for  the  success  of  tlu;  cruise,  —  to  which 
petition  all  those  having  a  share  in  the  voyage  respondetl  with  a 
hearty  amen. 

Newburyport,  then,  is  a  city  built  upon  a  hill.  One  reads  its 
history  as  he  walks.  Like  Salem,  it  rose  and  llourished  thr.nigli 
its  coiumerce  ;  but  when  tluit  failed,  the  business  of  the  place  had 
to  be  recast  in  a  wholly  diiferent  luoiild,  and  its  merchants  be- 
came spinners  and  weavers,  insteatl  of  shipowners  and  ship- 
builders. It  now  seems  trying  rather  awkwardly  to  adapt  itself 
to  the  changes  that  the  last  half-century  has  brought  about,  — 
clianges  emphasized  by  the  tenacity  with  which  the  old  peoplo 
cling  to  the  traditions  that  are  associated  with  its  former  pros- 
perity, and  gave  it  a  prestige  that  mills  and  factories  can  no 

longer  maintain. 

The  waterside  street  begins  at  a  nest  of  idle  shipyards,  winds 
with  the  river  along  a  line  of  rusty  wharves,  where  colliers  take 
the  place  of  Indiamen,  and  ends  with  the  antifiuated  suburb  of 
Joppa,  —  which  at  least  retains  some  of  the  flavor  of  a  seaport, 
it  having  a  population  that  gets  its  living  by  fishing,  piloting,  or 
doing  such  odd  jobs  as  watermen  can  pick  up  along  shore, 
Frorn  here  the  sails  of  a  vessel  that  is  nearing  the  port  can  be 
seen  gliding  along  over  the  sand-drifts  of  Plum  Island  or  Salis- 
bury Beach.     Joppa  is  crowded  with  houses,  but  it  is  torpid. 


!i! 


288 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Tlii.s  long  street  leaves  us  at  Okltowu,  the  parent  settlement 
here,  wliose  cliurch  spire  we  saw  at  a  distance.  It  is  narrow, 
irregular,  and  untidy;  but  High  Street,  the  avenue  laid  out  along 
the  to])  of  the  ridge,  and  extending  from  Oliltown  Green  to 
the  Chain  Bridge  over  the  Merrimack,  is  a  thorouglifare  one 
does  not  often  see  (;(pialled,  even  if  he  has  travelled  far  and  seen 
much. 

Here,  upon  the  cool  brow  of  the  ridge,  are  the  stately  homes 
of  the  wealthy  citizens ;  here  the  old  merchants,  who  amassed 
fortunes  in  West  India  rum  and  sugar  in  little  stuffy  counting- 
rooms  on  the  wharves  below,  lived  like  ])rinc('S  in  the  great 
roomy  mansions  whose  windows  overlooked  all  the  town,  the 
silvery  course  of  the  river,  and  the  surrounding  country  for 
miles  up  and  down.  Although  they  are  now  sadly  out  of  date, 
and  of  such  size  as  to  suggest  that  a  blow  of  the  hospitable 
knocker  would  fill  them  with  echoes,  there  is  an  air  of  gentility 
and  of  good  living  a])out  all  these  houses  v,'hicli  makes  us  feel 
regret  for  the  generation  whose  open-han.ded  hos])itality  Lis 
passed  into  a  tradition  ;  whihi  tlie  mansions  themselves,  grown 
venerable,  continue  to  unite  two  wholly  dissimilar  eras. 

Usually  there  was  an  observatory  on  the  roof,  from  which  the 
owner  could  sweep  the  offing  with  his  glass  of  a  morning,  and 
could  run  over  in  his  mind  the  chance  of  a  voyage  long  before 
his  vessel  had  wallowed  over  the  bar  outsiile.  He  might  then 
descend,  take  his  cocked  hat  and  cane  from  the  hall-tablo,  order 
dinner,  with  an  extra  cover  for  liis  captain,  pull  out  his  shirt-frill, 
and  go  down  to  his  counting-house  without  a  wrinkle  on  his 
brow  or  a  crease  in  his  silk  stockings  ;  everybody  would  know 
that  his  ship  had  come  in.  Sound  in  head  and  stomach,  bluif  of 
speech,  yet  with  a  certain  homely  tlignity  always  distinguishing 
his  class,  the  merchant  of  the  olden  time,  undoubted  autocrat  to 
his  immediate  circle  of  dependants,  was  a  man  whose  like  we 
shall  not  look  upon  again.     He  left  no  successors. 

During  the  two  wars  with  England,  a  swarm  of  ])rivateers, 
I'-s  well  as  some  of  the  most  famous  vessels  of  the  old,  the  invin- 
cible, navy,  were  launched  here.    In  1 81 2  the  port  suflered  as  long 


'  y 


■«  i 


11'    : 


NEWBUUVroHT    LEGENDS. 


289 


1  ,» 


> 


iuid  rigorous  a  blockade  from  tlio  enemy's  cruisers,  as  it  liad 
before  been  near!\  paralyzed  by  Mr.  detlerson's  embargo.  Then 
the  nr  reliant  had  ruin  staring  him  in  the  face  whenever  he  lev- 
elled his  glass  at  the  two  and  three  deelvcrs  exchanging  signals 
in  the  oiling,  or  when  he  paced  up  and  down  hi.s  grass-grown 
wharves,  where  his  idle  ships  rusted  ;  but  if  he  .lid  sometimes 
shut  his  glass  with  an  m-gry  jerk,  or  stanip  his  foot  to  say,  be- 
tween an  oath  and  a  groan,  "Our  masts  take  root,  bud  forth  too, 
and  beare  akornes  I "  he  was  never  found  wanting  in  patriotism, 
nor  did  he  show  a  inggardly  or  a  craven  spirit  in  the  face  of 
his  reverses,  so  that  tlu;  record  t)f  the  'I'racys,  the  Daltons,  tlie 
Browns,  is  one  of  which  their  descendants  are  Justly  ]iroud. 
Still,  it  was  not  thought  to  be  a  siidul  thing  in  those  days  for 
the  clergy  to  pray  that  a  change  of  rulers  ndght  remove  the 
end)argo,  or  that  a  stiff  gale  of  wind  would  raise  the  blockade, 
—  the  means  to  this  cud  being  left  to  the  wisdom  of  an  over- 
ruling J'rovidence. 

For  the  stranger,  however,  there  are  but  two  things  in  New- 
buryport  for  which  he  asks  the  first  person  he  nuiets.  One  is 
the  tomb  of  (Jeorge  Whitelield,  and  the  other  is  the  mansion  of 
Lord  Timothy  Dexter.  One  is  in  a  <juiet  and  unpretending 
neighborhood;  the  other  stands  in  the  high  })laces  of  the  city. 
Two  objects  more  diverse  by  their  associations,  two  lives  more 
opposite  in  their  aspirations,  it  would  bo  dilfteult  to  conceive  of, 
yet  here  the  memories  of  the  two  men  jostle  eacli  other.  Truly 
it  is  only  a  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous. 

The  nundier  of  pilgrims  who  visit  the  tomb  of  Whitefield  is 
very  large.  The  great  itinerant  preacher  is  burie.l  in  a  vault 
that  is  entered  by  a  door  underneath  the  pulpit  of  the  Old  South 
Presbyterian  meetingdiouse,  in  Federal  Street.  Its  slender  and 
modest  spire,  with  its  brazen  weath.-rcock,  rises  above  a  neigh- 
borhood no  longer  fashionalile,  i)erhaps,  but  quite  in  keeping 
with  its  own  .severe  simplicity.  Neither  belongs  to  the  present. 
The  house  has  the  date  1750  over  the  entranee-door,  and  is  built 
of  wood.  At  the  left  of  the  i)ulpit,  as  wo  enter,  is  a  marble 
cenotaph  erected  to  the  memory  of  Whitefield,  one  face  of  wdiich 

19 


'  I  I 


'  \ 


;ii  i 


™' 


290 


iNi;W-EN(.LAND    LEGENDS. 


bears  a  long  eulogistic  inscrijjtioii.  Descending  into  the  crypt, 
whose  sepulchral  darkness  a  lamp  dimly  liglits,  we  are  alone; 
with  its  silent  inmates.  Yonder  dark  object  i)resently  shajjcs 
itself  into  a  bier.  We  approacli  it.  Tlie  coffindid  is  tlircwn 
open,  so  as  to  cxpo.se  what  is  left  of  its  tenant,  —  the  ileshless 
skull    and    bones   (if   George  Whitelield.       It  is  not  furbidden 


WIIITEFIKLD  S   MONrMKNT. 


to  shudder.     AVIio,  indeed,  that  looks  can  believe  that  "  there, 
Whitefield,  pealed  thy  voice  "  1 

Owing,  doubtless,  to  the  fact  that  many  come  to  gratify  an  idle 
curiosity,  the  trustees  have  closed  the  tomb  "for  a  spell,"  as  the 


V 


NEWBUKYPOKT   LEGENDS. 


2'Jl 


■) 


¥ 


ulil  sextun  remarked,  with  too  evident  vexation  for  the  loss  uf 
his  fees  for  showing  it  to  visitors.  It  is  a  curious  in.staxiee  of 
vandahsm  tliat  one  of  tlie  ana-bones  sliould  luive  been  surrep- 
titiously taken  from  the  eoHin,  and  after  having  twiee  crossed 
the  ocean,  have  found  its  way  back  to  its  (triginai  resting-place. 
The  story  goes  that  an  ardent  admirer  (if  the  elo(|U(>nt  preacher, 
who  wished  to  (jbtain  some  relic  of  liim,  gave  a  commission  to  a 
iViend  for  the;  purpose,  and  tliis  friend,  it  is  supposed,  procured 
th(!  limb  tlirough  tlie  connivance  of  the  sexton's  son.  The  act 
of  deseeraticMi  being,  however,  discovered,  aroused  so  much  indig- 
nation everywhere,  that  tlie  possessor  thought  it  best  to  relin- 
(piish  his  [)ri/.e  ;  and  he  accordingly  intrusted  it  to  a  shipmaster, 
^vith  the  injunction  to  see  it  again  safely  placed  in  the  vault 
with  his  own  eyes,  —  which  diretttion  was  strictly  carried  out. 
"  And  r,"  finished  the  sexttm,  "  have  been  down  in  the  tomb 
with  the  captain  who  brought  that  ai'  bone  back."  But  this  all 
happened  many  years  ago. 

This  neighborhood  is  further  interesting  as  being  the  birth- 
place of  William  Lloyd  (Jarrison,  whose  dwelling  is  the  lirst  on 
the  left  in  School  Street,  while  the  i;ext  is  that  in  which  White- 
field  died  of  an  attack  of  asthma.  The  extr;t.ordinary  religious 
awakening  tliat  followed  his  preaching  is  one  of  the  traditions 
common  to  all  our  New-England  seaboard  towns,  the  houses 
where  he  stopi)ed  being  always  pointed  out ;  so  that  everywhere 
AVliiteiield  has  a  monument.  A  missionary  who  crossed  the 
ocean  fourteen  times,  an  evangelist  who  preached  more  than 
eighteen  thousand  sermons,  and  Avhosc  audiences  were  so  nume- 
rous that  he  was  coui[)elled  to  hold  his  meetings  in  the  open  air, 
was  uo  ordinary  man.  To  this  exposure  of  Iiimsclf  his  death  is 
attributed.  It  caused  a  deep  sensation  ;  and  so  nmch  had  the  pub- 
lic estimate  of  hiui  changed,  that  there  was  even  a  contention  for 
the  lienor  of  possessing  his  remains,  which  now  lie  in  the  place 
where  he  was  stoned  when  he  first  attempted  to  preach  in  it. 
Such  is  the  retribution  that  time  brings.  "When  this  cowardly 
assault  nearly  struck  the  Bible  from  his  liand,  the  man  who  al- 
ways had  an  answer  for  everything,  holding  up  the  book,  said 


■'  rl; 


n 


V 


I 


1:1    \ 


1  ; 


292 


:new-englani)  legends. 


with  calm  dignity,  but  in  a  voice  that  went  through  his  hearers 
Hke  an  electric  sliuck  :  "  1  have  a  warrant  from  God  to  j)reacli : 
his  seal  is  in  my  liand,  and  I  stand  in  tlie  Kini''    hi'  ';way." 


LORD  TIMOTHY  DEXTER. 

TIMOTHY  DEXTER  was  not  horn  great,  neither  did  lie 
have  greatness  thrust  upon  hiui ;  yet  so  eil'ectually  «loes 
lie  seem  to  have  thrust  his  (juasi-greatness  upon  Newburyi)ort, 
tliat  even  now,  after  tin;  lapse  of  nearly  fourscore  yc.'ars,  count- 
ing from  the  time  when  he  laid  his  eccentricities  in  tlie  dust,  as 
all  lords,  sooner  or  later,  must  do,  tlio  stranger  visiting  Xowbm'y- 
port  asks  first  to  be  guided  to  the  spot  where  the  renowned  Lord 
Timothy  lived  in  most  unrepublican  state. 

Timothy  Dexter  Avas  not  a  native  of  Ncwburyport.  Maiden 
has  the  honor  of  being  his  birthplace;  and  the  family  still  exists 
there,  a  brancli  of  it  liaving  occupied  one  estate  for  more  than 
two  hundred  years.  Although  bred  to  the  tanner's  trade,  Tiuu.- 
thy  Avas  far  too  shrewd  to  hide  his  talents  in  a  vat.  He  saw 
easier  avenues  to  wealth  opening  before  him  ;  and  with  a  forecast 
Avhich  woukl  make  any  merchant's  fortune,  he  bought  and  sold 
in  the  way  of  trade  until  he  had  accuuudated  a  snug  capital 
for  future  speculations. 

Having  "put  money  in  his  ]iurse,"  Timothy  Dexter  became 
ambitious;  believing  that  a  golden  key  Avould  admit  him  within 
the  circles  of  the  aristocracy.  Then,  as  now,  Ncwburyport  was 
the  scat  of  (Culture,  refinement,  and  literature  ;  and  it  was  there- 
fore to  Ncwburyport  that  the  titled  tanner  now  turned  liis  eyes. 
He  found  in  its  picturesque  jirecincts  two  mansion  houses  avail- 
able for  his  purpose,  and  these  lu;  purchased.  He  first  occui)ied 
one  situated  on  State  Street  ;  but  having  soon  sold  this  at  a 
profit,  he  removed  to  tlu;  well-known  estate  situated  on  High 
Street,  thenceforth  making  it,  through  an  odd  ])erversion  of  its 
real  character*,  one  of  tlie  historic  mansions  of  Essex  County. 


fist 

■'■i!|||!ii|li' '. . 
■i|  I!  iji" 


c 


■y. 


294 


NK\V-KN(iLANI)    LKi  iKNJ)S. 


■ir  '  I 


Viiiii  to  excess,  Ik;  lonj^vil  lor  tlit'  luliihilioii  wliich  a  cortain  da-ss 
of  people  are  alway.s  ready  ti^  lavish  upon  the  possessors  of  great 
wealth. 

He  now  lH',ifaii  the  woi'k  of  renovation  whieii  transfonued  the 
soher  mansion  of  his  predecessor  into  a  harleipiinade  in  wood. 
J!y  his  directions  the  painlei's  adorned  tlie  outside. a  briiliant 
wliite,  triniined  with  ureen.  Minarets  were  built  upon  the  loof, 
in  the  centre  of  wiiich  rose  a  loft}'  cupola  surmounted  by  a 
gilded  ea,nle  Avith  outspread  ■\vings.  Standing  as  it  did  ujion 
the  crown  of  the  hill,  the  house  could  bi^  seen  for  miles  around, 
and  soon  l)ecanuj  a  landmark  for  marin(,'rs.  But  tlie  great  and 
uni(pi(t  display  was  made  in  thi'  garden  IVonting  tliis  Jiouse. 

There  tlieii  was  working  at  his  trade  in  the  town  a  skilful 
ship-carver  named  Wilson,  whom  Dexter  employed  to  carve 
from  the  solid  wood  some  forty  gigantii'  st;i,tues  of  the  most 
celebrated  men  of  tlie  jieriod.  (lladly  did  the  sculptor  accept 
and  exeruli'  this  order,  for  it  enaliled  him  to  lay  tlie  foundation 
of  a  small  fortune,  ami  to  ac(juire  a  lasting  reputation  amou"' 
his  townsmen  for  his  workmansiiip.  These  images  were  about 
eight  feet  in  height.  With  conscientious  lidelity  to  fact  and 
iitni'ss,  Uie  carved  clothing  was  painted  to  resenil)le  that  worn 
hy  the  real  jiersonages, — blue  coats,  white  shirts,  bulf  brecndies, 
and  the  rest, — altogether  making  a  display  wiiich  no  museum 
in  the  country  could  equal.  Over  the  main  entrance  to  the 
house,  on  a  beautiful  arch,  stood  George  Washington,  M'ith  John 
Adams,  bareheaded,  at  his  right  hand;  for  Dexter  said  that  no 
one  should  stand  covered  on  the  right  hand  of  his  greatest  hero, 
(leneral  Washington.  On  the  left  was  Thomas  .lellerson.  iiold- 
ing  in  his  hand  a  scroll  inscribed  "Constitution."  P)ut  mv 
Lord  T-uiothy,  it  is  s<ud,  in  spite  of  the  i)ainter's  objections, 
insisted  upon  spelling  tlie  name  of  the  Sage  of  ^Fonticello, 
"Tonias,"  instead  of  Thomas,  hnally  threatening  to  shoot  the 
artist  on  the  spot  if  he  persi.sted  in  his  refusal  to  do  what  was 
required  of  him. 

The  man  who  had  planned  and  created  this  garden  of  statues 
was  as  cajiricious  as  f;uue  itself.     If  he  raised  a  statue  to  some 


iii^ 


•  ( 


LOUD    T1M(JTI1V    DEXTKU. 


295 


fV.vorito  to-day,  lio  rcscrvuil  the  riyht  to  cliaii.u'o  his  narao  to- 
jiiovrow  ;  and  oltun  a  .stroko  of  tlie  painter's  Inush  translorniud 
statosmiiii  into  soLUors,  or  soldiers  into  civiUans.  General  Mor- 
gan yesterday  was  JJonaj)arte  to-day,  to  whom  Dexter  always 
j>aid  tlie  eivility  of  toucliiug  his  hat  when  he  passed  underneath 
till'  gri.'at  Corsican's  shadow.  In  the  panels  of  the  entahlaturos 
of  (Nudi  of  the  cohuuns  on  which  thesi;  images  stood  were  the 
names  of  the  characters  represented.  Among  them  were  (>ov- 
ernor  -Jo)  n  Langdon  of  >«'ew  Hampsliire,  (lovernor  Calel)  Strong 
of  ^Massi'.chusetts,  Kufus  King,  (General  IJutler  of  South  Caro- 
lina, (ieneral  Knox,  John  day,  dohn  Hancock,  William  Pitt, 
Louis  XVL,  King  (leorgv,  Lord  Nelson,  and  the  Indian  Chief, 
Corn  Planter.  There  was  also  one  allegorical  figure  representing 
Maternal  Aifectiou,  and  another  a  Travelling  I*reacher,  besides 
several  enormous  lions  occupying  pedestals.  Dexter  himself 
mouijpolized  two  statues.  One  of  these  stood  near  the  door, 
holding  in  its  hand  a  placard,  whicli  was  inscril)ed,  "  1  am  iirst 
in  the  East,  tlie  first  in  tiie  West,  and  the  Greatest  Philosoiilier 
in  the  known  world."  The  cost  of  these  images,  with  the  col- 
umns on  which  they  were  placed,  is  said  to  have  been  lifteen 
thousand  dollars.  This  was  the  only  way,  however,  in  wliicli 
Lord  Tnuothy  was  abh;  to  lu-ing  himself  into  association  with 
greatness.  Society  refused  him  recognition  with  the  same  hard 
obduracy  that  his  own  wooden  images  did,  his  vulgarity  and 
ignorance  being  too  gross  even  for  all  his  gold  to  gild  ;  and  so 
he  lived  only  among  sycophants  and  parasitica,  who  cajoled  and 
flattered  hirn  to  his  heart's  conticnt. 

Having  a  house  and  grounds  which  he  Hattered  himself  would 
make  his  stuck-up  neighbors  split  with  envy.  Dexter  next  re- 
solveel  to  set  up  an  equipage  fit  for  a  lord ;  and  one  suiting  his 
ideas  of  magnificence  was  accordingly  procured.  Some  one 
having  told  him  that  the  carriages  of  the  noliility  were  always 
decorated  with  a  coat  of  arras,  one  was  composed  on  demand 
and  painted  (ui  the  panel.  The  crest  may  have  been  a  dexter 
arm  brandishing  a  warnung-pan,  with  the  motto,  "  Dy  this  I 
got  ye." 


!-t 


I  I 


*  I 


206 


NKW-EN(;LAN1)    LEflENHS. 


In  tho  mattor  of  Imrscs  Dexter  was  extromoly  fastidious,  as 
well  as  caiii'ii'idus.  As  soon  as  lio  gnsw  tired  of  one,  color,  lio 
woidd  sell  those  lie  iiad  just  boii;^dit  at  extrava,L,'aiit  priees,  and 
Imy  others.  His  eostly  carriage,  drawn  liy  heautii'ul  cream-col- 
ored animals,  became  one  of  the  sights  of  the  d;iy  whenever 
the  owner  chose  to  take  an  airing;  hut  to  the  Itixnry  m1'  |he 
('([tiiiiage  tho  gaunt  and  mean  face,  half  l)uried  undei'neath  an 
enormous  coeked-hat,  the;  spare  tigure  sitting  holt  upright,  the 
hairless  dog  s(piatted  Ix'siths  it,  offered  a  contrast  as  stiikingly 
ridiculous  as  diil  the  coach  of  the  celelirate'd  'I'ittlehat-'i'it mouse, 
and  it  ])rovoke(l  quite  as  much  laughter  when  it  i)assed  through 
the  town,  the  street  urchins  shouting  ironically,  "  Clear  th<^  way 
for  my  lord's  carriages  !  " 

In  this  coach  Dexter  once  drove  in  state  to  the  c<uinty  prison 
at  Ijiswich,  where  he  served  a  short  sentence  for  liriiig  his  pistol 
at  a  countryman  who  stood  staring  at  his  museum  of  celeltritics, 
and  who  did  not  move  on  when  my  Lord  'I'imotiiy  commanded 
him. 

l)Ut  this  singular  being  did  not  consider  his  establislnnent  as 
compltite  without  tlu^  ciitounii/c  of  a  nol)l(>man  in  the  days  of 
chivalry.  He  would  again  revive  the  age  of  poets  and  troul)a- 
dours.  Perhaps  the  most  unii[Ui'  idea  of  all  was  tlu;  engage- 
ment of  a  poet-laureate  to  write  his  praises  and  to  eud)alm  his 
memory  in  verse.  Tliere  haiipened  to  be  living  in  Newbury- 
port  one  Jonathan  Plummer,  an  eccentric  jxMlhn'  of  tish,  who 
had  a  penchant  for  extempore  rhyming  which  with  the  igno- 
rant and  illiterate  passed  for  genius.  A  bargain  was  forth- 
with struck  with  him  to  serve  in  the  capacity  of  ])oet-laureate, 
and  as  such  he  was  presently  installed  in  Dexter's  household. 
A  handsome  new  livery  was  ordered,  consisting  of  a  tine  black 
broadcloth  coat,  with  stars  on  the  collar  and  fringe;  on  the  skirts, 
slioos  with  large  silver  buckles,  a  cocked-hat,  and  a  gold-headed 
cane.  One  of  Pbunmer's  poems  to  his  patron,  comprising  about 
fifteen  verses,  has  been  preserved  entire.  The  following  is  a 
specimen  :  — 


ii 

1  ■ 

L(i|;ii    TIMOTIIV    ItKXTEK.  297 

Lord  Dcxtur  is  a  man  ui'  Imiiio, 

Most  (•(■Icliratcd  is  his  iiainc, 

Moro  pii'ciou.s  far  than  gold  tluit  's  pnro  : 

L()i'<l  iJextcr  siiine  loicvcr  iiioiv  ! 

Hi-  I11111-.C  is  uhitc  and  liiiiiiiicil  willi  greon  ; 
For  many  miles  it  may  lie  seen  ; 
It  sliiiK's  as  liii;,dd  as  any  star  ; 
The  fame  nf  it  lia-  spivad  alar. 

Lord  l)(ixti'r,  likt-  King  Solnmon, 
Ilatli  gold  and  silver  liy  tlic  ton  ; 
And  liidls  to  fiiiiirlics  lie  luitli  given, 
'I'n  uorsliiji  tlu"  gi'cai  King  of  Heaven. 

Not  r,,iifid  Willi  all  this,  Dextei's  aml.itioii  iiou'  aimod  at 
notliing  less  than  literary  lame;  and  this  was  uehieved  at  a 
stroke  l.y  (he  puhlieatirm  of  his  "  Pieklo  for  the  Knowing 
Ones,"  — an  aiitol.iograi)hy  which  lias  ever  since  puzzled  thos'o 
to  whom  it  was  ad.hvsso.l,  to  decide  whether  the  author  was 
really  mon^  knave  or  fool.  I'.ut  as  the  lirst,  an.l  pr.djul.ly  the 
last,  example  of  the  kind,  the  "  l>icd<l.."  ha.i  immediat.^  success, 
although  ill  every  way  it  is  a  most  grotes.jue  lil.el  upon  the 
good  nam<.  of  literary  composition.  The  si.elling  is  atrocious, 
and  then-  was  no  attempt  at  punctuation;  hut  the  author's 
invention  supplied  this  defect  in  a  second  e-lition.  hy  inserting 
a  page  or  more  of  punctuation-marLs  at  the  end,  wit'h  the  fol^ 
lowing  note  :  — 

"Mister  printer  the  Xowing  ones  .•omplane  of  mv  hook  the  fust 
edition  ha.l  n<.  stops  I  put  in  A  Xnf  here  and  thev'n.av  peper  and 
salt  It  as  they  plese."  ' 

Hut  this  odd  notion  hardly  originated  with  Dexter,  original 
as  heuiKiuestionably  was,  inasmuch  as  Tom  Hood  has  an  ac.'ount 
m  his  "  lieminiscences"  of  a  literary  frien.l  who  placed  a  num- 
ber of  colons,  .semicolons,  etc.,  at  the  bottom  of  his  communi- 
cation, adding, 

And  these  aic  my  points  that  I  pliice  at  the  foot, 
That  you  may  put  stops  that  I  can't  stof)  to  put. 


ill 


'  i'l 


11 


298 


N EW-LNGLAND    LKCiENDS. 


P 


Pcxtor's  iini(iiie  spcculutiun  in  warniin^'-puiis,  tohl  by  liinisulf 
in  tliij  '*  Pickle,"  has  pciliaps  iIdiio  iiion;  to  tnuisuiit  his  iiunie  to 
posterity  tliaii  aiiytliiiig  else.  15y  some  [)eoplo  the  story  is  con- 
sidered as  iiotliiuy  short  of  a  pure  ial)- 
riciition,  designed  for  those  ini^uisitivc 
people  who  were  continually  askinjf 
how  Dexter  made  Ids  money.  Hut 
even  if  the  story  is  too  <,'ood  to  lie 
true, — ami  as  a  merchant  his  shrewd- 
ness was  proverbial,  —  the  world  has 
accepted  it  upon  his  own  testimony 
us  the  lucky  l)lunder  of  fortune's  favor- 
ite and  fool.  The  man  l)eing  him- 
I  self  an  enigma,  wo  should  say  that 
in  his  case  it  is  the  imi)robable  that 
is  true. 

He  relates  that,  having  dreamed  three 
nights  running  that  warming-pans 
would  do  well  in  the  "West  Indies, 
he  collected  *'  no  more  than  forty-two 
thousand,"  whicli  were  put  on  board 
nine  vessels  bound  to  dill'erent  ports, 
and  clearetl  him  seventy-nine  per  cent. 
The  story  goes  that  one  of  Dexter's  captains,  being  a  shrewd  fel- 
low, to<jk  off  the  covers  of  the  pans,  which  were  then  sold  to  the 
sugar-planters,  all  of  whom  were  anxious  to  obtain  them  lor 
ladles. 

Dexter's  speculations  in  whalebone  and  Bil)Ies  were  eipially 
comical  and  absurd.  Again  he  dreamed  "  tliat  the  good  book 
was  run  down  in  this  country  so  low  as  half  price,  and  dull  at 
that.  I  had,"  he  says,  "  the  ready  cash  ])y  wliolesale.  I  bouglit 
twenty-one  thousand.  1  put  them  into  twenty -one  vessels  for 
the  West  Indies,  and  sent  as  a  text  that  all  of  them  nuist  have 

one  Bible  in  eacli  family,  or  they  would  go  to ." 

Besides  putting  faith  in  dreams,  Dexter  believed  in  fortune- 
telling  as  well  as  fortune-making,  and  made  many  attempts  to 


AVARMIXCi-P.\N. 


lit)! 


LOUD   TIMOTHY    DEXTEll. 


299 


pry  iiuo  till'  ol)snni'ity  of  tiu'   rutiiiv  hy  ciMi^ultiii^'  tlio  oracle 
of  his  iieigliburlioud,  ono  Madam  Hooper,  —  a  strange  cliuructor, 


LOUD    TIMOTHY    DKXTKR. 


wlio,  after  toachiiig  .school,  assiniRHl  tiie  profession  of  fortinie- 
telliiig.  The  renowned  :\loll  I'itcluir  also  had  Dexter  fur  a 
patron,  and  her  influence  is  said  to  have  been  beneficial  to  him. 


300 


ni:\v-kn(;l.\nii  lkcmnds. 


'Ill 


i'O 


\  ,  I 


Auotli(!r  porscdi  who  is  .said  U>  Iihvi-  cxcrtcil  a  trrcat  iiilliiciifo 
for  giidd  oviii'  tliis  cccciiti'ic  iiiiia  vus  a  ncf^rcsiri  naiin'il  I -my  l.aii- 
('ast(!i', — a  I'ciiialr  of  Aina/iniiaii  in'oportiotis,  wIki  is  (Icscrilicii  as 
Ihmii;,'  possc'Hsod  of  uimsiial  sliicwdiicss  and  iiitnMiialioii.  JfiT 
fatlii'i',  callod  Ca'.sar,  was  tlio  sdii  (if  an  Ai'iiiaii  kiiij,',  and  was 
itrouj,'Iit  til  the  ('(luntry  as  a  slavi.'.  So  hi^^ddy  was  ho  estccnit'd, 
llial  oil '•  Nij,r;^ror 'Lt't'tion  Day  "  Lucy's  father  ai'twl  as  gonciral- 
issiiii.i,  and  was  entitled  to  have  t\V(dv(i  footnien  run  l>y  his  si(U', 
widli^  he  ]H'oudly  hestro(U)  a  spii'led  horsc!  at  tlie  iirad  of  the; 
sooty  ])r()(^('s,-iiin. 

When  tlie  yellow  lVv(r  ia,ui'(i  in  N'ewliuryi'ort  in  IT'.Mi,  Liiry 
Lancaster  proveil  iierself  indeeil  of  royal  lilood.  Strong;  and 
foarless,  ftdl  of  ^^ood  works,  she  di'Votod  herstdf  day  and  ni,L,dit  to 
the  sick,  prineipally  in  the  fandlies  of  tli(!  best  i)eople  ;  Dexter, 
ainotii^' otheis,  liavin-.i'  need  of  hei'  servici's.  she  hecanie  a  lirm 
friend  and  eouiiselldr  to  the  family.  Her  estimate  of  J)exter 
was  iiiiicli  higher  than  the  eonini  n  one.  and  she  jj,ave  iiim  credit 
for  more  honesty  of  purpose  than  most  people  did.  He  needed 
some  ono  liko  her  to  adviso  him,  and  she  tVeiiuently  turneil  his 
attention  from  mis(diiovous  ]iiu'siiits  iiy  sin^u'cstiiiL,'  alterations 
and  improvements  to  be  made  in  ids  house  and  grounds.  This 
Woman  survived  l)exter  nearly  forty  years. 

One  of  th(!  oddest  of  1  )exter's  freaks  was  his  mock  funeral, 
which  was  arranged  l,y  him  with  all  the  solemnity  of  prepara- 
tion re([uisite  for  a  real  inteinient.  Tn  his  garden  he  had  caused 
to  1)(!  l)uilt  a  spacious  tond),  while  in  his  house  ho  hail  long  kept 
a  costly  colliu  made  of  mahogany,  richly  adorned. 

With  a  curiosity  perhaps  unprecedented  in  the  history  of  vain 
man,  he  wished  to  secithe  eil'ect  his  funeral  would  produce.  Invi- 
tations were  issued,  mourning  apparel  was  ])repared  for  liis  fanuly, 
some  ono  was  found  to  olliciate  as  minister,  and  the  procession 
was  duly  formed,  and  mandied  to  the  vaiUt  in  the  garden.  While 
this  farce  was  perfornnng,  Dexter  was  looking  from  an  upper  win- 
dow, and  before  the  company  had  dispersed,  he  was  found  beat- 
ing his  wife  for  not  shedding  tears  at  his  jtretended  demise. 
Of  his  conjugal  relations,  it  is  reported  by  ono  who  knew  him 


1 


ill 


■i  ■ 


TllH    Ul,l)    i:i.M    OK    NKWniJKY. 


'Ml 


wtill,  Unit,  beoomiiij,'  ilLssiitiMlit'd  with  lii.s  wiCe,  Im  iiiiulo  ii  l)ar>,'ain 
with  liiT  to  li'iivt'  liiiii,  j^iviiij,'  Iht  u  tliousaiid,  <ii'  'rliaps  t\V(j 
tliiiiisiiinl,  (loUiirs  ill  t;X('liiiii;^f  Im'  liis  lilx'ity,  Iji:  ihcii  advor- 
tist'(l  i'or  aimllici'  wii'i^  ;  hut  thi-n;  liciiig  no  a|)pht.'unt,  lie,  al'lcr 
waitiii;^'  sonic  tiiiir,  wa.s  ;;lii(l  to  hii'n  his  own  wit'u  to  coiut;  hack 
hy  tho  oll'iir  ol'  a  sum  eiiual  to  that  liu  had  oi'i;^'inally  j,'ivi'ii  Iht 
to  ,l;o  away. 

On  the  L!<>th  ol'  ()(;lol)ci',  IcSOtl,  hurd  Doxtcr  ditul  at  liis  inaii- 
sion  on  llii;li  Struot.  Jlis  luiuMal  was  an  oitcasion  wliich  it 
would  have  pleased  him  to  witness,  if  such  sij^hls  could  Le  per- 
niilli'd  In  vain  mortals;  Ijiit  us  the  town  ollicers  would  not,  I'or 
sanitary  reasons,  allow  liis  remains  to  ho  depositeil  in  Ids  ^'urdeii 
tiuuh,  ho  was  laid  away  ainonj,'  his  fellow  townsmen  in  tin; 
puhlii;  hurying-j^'round  near  the  l'ro,!^'-j  ond. 

Not  long  after  his  death  a  gale  blow  ilown  many  of  the 
images,  and  the  phico  grew  dilapidated,  .\liout  tlu!  year  1S4(), 
while  it  was  being  useil  as  a  factory  boarding-house,  the  estate 
was  purchased  by  K.  (1.  Kelley,  of  IS'ewburyport,  who  pos.sossej 
wealth  and  taste,  and  he  proceeded  to  obliterate  as  far  as  jios- 
sible  all  traces  of  his  predecessor's  follio.s.  The  throe  presidents 
over  tho  door  were  thrown  down  and  domolishod  ;  tho  groun<ls 
were  newly  laid  out  ;  and  now  nothing  except  tho  oaglo  on  the 
summit  of  tho  cupola  remains  to  sliow  Dexter's  bizarre  achievo- 
monts  in  ornamentation,  or  to  point  a  moral  u])ou  his  extrava- 
gances as  a  pliih)Sopli(;r. 


THE  OLD  ELM  OF  NEWBURY. 


ON  Parker  Street,  in  Old  Newbury,  just  out  of  tho  village, 
there  is  .still  growing  tho  gigantic  olm-troe  that  is  known 
far  and  wide  as  the  old  elm  of  Newbury,  (yollin  .says  that 
it  was  transplanted  and  set  out  hero  by  llicbard  Ja(]Uos  in 
1713,  so  that  it  has  now  been  growing  on  this  spot  one  hun- 


;302 


.1:^ 


N^l 


i 
I:: 


1:1 

' 

i 

i 

1  1 

.  ■ 

NEW-ENCILANI)   LEGENDS. 


dred  and  seventy  yoiU'.s.  Its  girth  is  enormous,  being  twenty- 
four  and  one  li;df  leet  iit  one  fotit  from  the  ground.  Now  thiit 
the  liistorii;  old  ehn  of  Hostnii  is  no  more,  this  is  undoubtedly 
the  largest  tree  of  its  species  in  New  England. 

Vet  older  than  the  tree  are  some  of  the  houses  in  the  neigh- 
horlmod  — 

Olil  lioincstcads,  sacred  to  all  that  can 
(iladdcii  i>r  siiildcii  tiic  licait  cf  mail  ; 

and  still  (ildcr  aic  (lie  corroded  stones  in  tlie  village  ehurehyard 
that  overlooks  the  broad  estuary  of  the  river,  and  is  ■washed  liy 
the  jioiid  (d'the  iloating  isLuul  lielow  it.  Legendary  lore  rdings 
around  these  a^eil  houses  lik(>  tlie  mistletoe  to  the  oak,  and  lends 
its  eharm  to  llu.'  niysteiy  that  dveishadowtj  them. 


THE   OLD   ELM   OF   NEWBfRY. 


I'^K., 


THE    OLD    ELM   OF   XEWlJl'KY. 


303 


In  a  pretty  pastoral  legend  Mi.8  Ilaiuiah  (Juuld  gives  the 
ongm  or  the  old  el.n,  and  inci.lentally,  also,  nn  engaging  picture 
ot  the  larm  life  of  those  early  times  with  whieh  the  le-end 
itself  is  associated.  ° 


THE   OLD   ELM   OF   .XKWLUIiY. 

li.    F.    GUULI), 

Did  it  ever  come  in  yonr  way  to  ])ass 
The  silvery  pond,  with  its  fringe  nl' grass, 
And  threading  tlie  lane  har<l  l.y  to  see 
'I'hc  Veteran  elm  of  Xewhnrv  ? 

"Wtdl,  that  old  elm  tliat  is  now  so  grand 

Was  once  a  twig  in  tlic  rustic  hand 

Of  a  youthfnl  ])casant,  who  went  one  idght 

To  visit  las  love  hy  tlic  tcn(h'r  li-lit 

Of  the  modest  moon  and  her  twinkling  luv^t  ; 

Wliile  the  star  that  li-hted  Ids  Inisom  most. 

And  gave  to  liis  loni'ly  feet  llicir  sjiecd, 

Aliodc  in  a  colta-v  hexund  tlie  nieaif 

It  is  not  reconh'd  liow  long  lie  staved 
In  the  cheerful  h(juse  of  the  snuling  maid. 
But  wlien  lie  came  out  it  was  late  and  dark 
And  silent  ;  not  even  a  dog  w<ndd  1>ark 
To  take  from  ins  feeling  ofjoneliness, 
An.l  make  the  length  .jf  ins  way  seem  less. 

An  elm  grew  close  hy  the  cotta-e's  eaves. 

So  lie  plucke.!  1dm  a  twig  well  clothed  with  leaves. 

So,  sallying  fortli,  wiili  the  supj.lc  arm 

To  serve  as  a  talisman  parrying  harm 

He  felt  that,  tliou<,di  his  heart  was  big, 

'T  was  even  stouter  for  liaving  the  twig  ; 

For  this,  he  thought,  wonid  answer  tolwitch 

The  horrors  away,  as  he  crossed  the  ditch. 


' 


i 

I  i:  ;' 

i 

•  h 

i   '^' 

1 

^•'  i     ? 

; 

304  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  iiieiidinv  iiml  cup.se,  wlieieiii,  perchance, 
Will-u'-lht!-\vi.sp  might  wickedly  dance  ; 
And,  wielding  it,  keep  him  from  having  a  chill 
At  the  menacing  sound  of  "•  Wliij)pour\vill!" 
And  his  (jesli  from  creeping  Ijcside  tlie  bog 
At  the  harsh  hass  voice  of  the  viewless  frog; 
In  short,  ho  felt  that  the  switch  would  be 
Guard,  plaything,  business,  and  company. 

When  lie  got  safe  home,  and  joyfully  found 

He  still  was  himself,  and  living,  and  sound. 

He  planted  the  twig  by  his  family  cot. 

To  stand  as  a  monument,  marking  the  spot 

It  helped  him  to  reach  ;  and,  what  was  still  more, 

Because  it  had  grown  by  his  I'aii'  one's  door. 

The  twig  took  root  ;  and,  as  time  liew  by, 
Its  boughs  spread  wide,  and  its  head  grew  high  ; 
While  the  priest's  good  service  had  long  l)een  done. 
Which  made  the  youth  and  the  maiden  one  ; 
Anil  their  young  scions  arose  and  [dayed 
Around  the  tree  in  its  leafy  shade. 


jiii 


n 


THE  PROPHECY  OF  SAMUEL  SEW  ALL. 

THIS  piece,  so  full  of  the  milk  (>f  liumaii  kindness,  was 
written  to  disprove  the  opinion  advanced  by  the  Simple 
Cobbler  and  others,  to  whom  it  is  at  once  a  rebuke,  and  an 
answer,  that  it  was  impossible  to  subsist  in  New  luighuid  by 
the  labor  of  one's  hands  alono.  It  is  found  in  Sewall's  "  New 
Heaven  upon  the  New  Earth."  So  (piaiiitly  is  it  expressed,  that 
only  the  original  language  can  fitly  set  forth  tlie  picture  of  pros- 
perous abundance  that  so  gladdened  tlie  good  old  man's  eyes 
when  looking  down  upon  it  from  the  Newbury  hills.     Retain- 


r  ' 


THE   PllOrirECV    OF   SAMUEL   SEWALL. 


805 


ing  tliis  as  much  us  possil)U>,  Mr.  Whittier  lias   phrased  it  in 
puutic  form  that  is  singularly  like  the  i)rose  version. 

This,  let  us  say,  is  the  same  Samuel  Bewail  who,  as  one  of 
the  witchcraft  judges,  gained  a  lasting  notoriety,  and  whose 
marriage  to  Hannah,  the  daughter  of  ]\Iint-master  John  Hull, 
originated  the  tradition  that  she  received  her  own  weight  in 
silver  PiucvTreo  shillings  as  a  wedding  portion.  The  family 
has  always  held  a  distinguished  place  in  the  annals  of  Colony 
and  State;  and  Sewall's  remarkable  "Diary,"  to  which  we 
have  before  referred,  is  a  storehouse  of  information  coni^ern- 
ing  the  events  and  manners  of  his  time.  The  prophecy  is  as 
follows  :  — 

"As  lung  as  Plum  Island  shall  faitld'ully  keej)  the  coinniamU'd 
Post,  Nutwithstanding  the  hectoring  words  and  hard  blows  of  the 
proud  and  boisterous  ocean  ;  As  long  as  any  Salmon  or  Sturgeon 
shall  swim  in  the  streams  of  Merrimack,  or  any  Perch  or  Pickeril  in 
Crane  Pond  ;  As  long  as  the  Sea  Fowl  shall  know  the  time  of  their 
coming,  and  not  neglect  seasonably  to  visit  tlie  jtlaces  of  their  acquaint- 
ance ;  As  long  as  any  Cattel  sludl  be  fed  with  the  (Jrass  growing  in 
the  meadows  Mhich  doe  humbly  bow  themselves  before  Tuikie  Hill  ; 
As  long  as  any  Sheep  shall  walk  upon  Old-town  Hills,  and  shall  from 
thence  pleasantly  look  down  upon  the  liiver  Parker  and  the  fiuitful 
Marishes  lying  beneath ;  As  long  as  any  free  and  harmless  Doves 
shall  find  a  White  Oak  or  other  Tree  within  tlie  township  to  perch, 
or  feed,  or  build  a  careless  Nest  upon,  and  shall  voluntarily  present 
themselves  to  perform  the  othce  of  Gleaners  after  Barley  Harvest ; 
As  long  as  Nature  shall  not  ltow  old  and  dote,  but  sliall  constantly 
remember  to  give  the  rows  of  Indian  Corn  their  education  by  Pairs, 
—  So  long  shall  Christians  be  born  there  ;  and  being  first  made  meet, 
shall  from  thence  be  translated  to  be  made  partakers  of  the  Saints  of 
Light." 

PROPHECY   OF   SA:MUEL   SEWALL. 


J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

I  SEE  it  all  like  a  chart  unrolled, 
But  my  thoughts  are  full  of  the  past  ami  old  ; 
I  hear  the  tales  of  my  boyhood  told, 
20 


306 


NKW-ENGLANI)   LEGENDS. 


Ami  the  sliiulows  iiiid  sIimjics  df  caily  days 

Flit  iliiuly  by  in  the  vuiliii^'  haze, 

With  muasurod  moviMiR'nt  and  rhythmic  chime 

AVcaviiig  like  shuttles  my  web  of  rhyme. 

I  tliiiik  of  the  old  man  wise  and  j^'ood 

Who  once  on  yon  misty  hillsides  stood, 

(A  poet  who  never  measured  rhyme, 

A  seer  miknowii  to  his  dull-eared  time.) 

And,  jiropped  on  his  staff  of  a,L,'e,  looked  down, 

With  his  boyhood's  love,  on  his  native  town. 

Where,  written,  as  if  on  its  hills  and  plains. 

His  burden  of  i)rophecy  yet  remains. 

For  the  voices  of  wood,  and  wave,  and  wind 

To  read  in  the  ear  of  the  musing  mind :  — 

"As  long  as  Plum  Island,  to  guard  the  coast. 
As  Ciod  a))poiiited,  shall  keep  its  post  ; 
As  long  as  a  salmon  shall  haunt  the  deep 
Of  Merrimack  River,  or  .sturgeon  leap  ; 
As  long  as  jjickerel,  swift  and  slim. 
Or  red-backed  perch,  in  Crane  Pond  swim  ; 
As  long  as  the  annual  sea-fowl  know 
Their  time  to  come  and  their  time  to  go  ; 
As  long  as  cattle  shall  roam  at  will 
The  green  grass  meadows  l)y  Turkey  Hill  ; 
As  long  as  sheej)  shall  look  from  the  side 
Of  Oldtown  Hill  on  marislics  wide. 
And  Parker  River,  and  salt-sea  tide  ; 
As  long  as  a  wandering  jiigeon  shall  search 
The  fields  below  from  his  white-oak  perch, 
When  the  bailey-harvest  is  ri]ie  and  .shorn. 
And  the  dry  husks  fall  from  the  standing  corn  ; 
As  long  as  Nature  shall  not  grow  old, 
Nor  drop  her  work  from  her  doting  hold. 
And  her  care  for  the  Indian  corn  forget. 
And  the  yellf)w  rows  in  pairs  to  set, — 
So  long  shall  Christians  here  be  born, 
Grow  up  and  ripen  as  God's  sweet  corn,  — 
By  the  beak  of  bird,  by  the  breatli  of  frost, 
Shall  never  a  holy  ear  be  lost, 


iter. 


THE   DOUBLE-HEADED   SNAKE. 

J5iit,  husked  liy  Death,  in  the  Planter's  sight, 
Be  sown  a''aiii  in  the  tields  of  li<'ht  I  " 


307 


The  Island  still  is  i)uri)le  witli  plums, 

U}i  the  river  tlie  saluimi  comes, 

The  sturgeon  leaps,  and  the  wild-fowl  feeds 

On  hillside  l)erries  and  marish  seeds, — 

All  the  1  leant iful  signs  remain, 

From  sjiring-time  sowing  to  autumn  rain 

The  good  man's  vision  returns  again  I 

And  let  us  hope,  as  well  we  can, 

That  the  Silent  Angel  who  garners  man 

May  find  some  grain  as  of  old  he  found 

In  the  human  cornfield  ripe  and  sound. 

And  the  Lord  of  the  Harvest  deign  to  dwu 

The  precious  seed  by  the  fathers  sown  ! 


THE    DOUBLE-HEADED    SNAKE. 

ONE  does  not  go  far  into  the  history  of  our  legendary  lore 
without  making  tlie  discovery  that  Cotton  Mather's  study, 
like  tliat  of  liis  father  before  him,  was  the  congenial  receptacle 
for  everything  that  might  happen  in  New  England  out  of  the 
common.  Tpon  tliis  centre  tlie  dark  tales  converged  like  a 
flight  of  bats  in  the  niglit.  His  fatlier  had  solicited  the  New- 
Kngland  ministers  to  contribute  everything  of  a  marvellous 
(diara(;ter  that  might  come  witliin  their  knowledge  or  under 
their  observation,  to  ttie  end  that  the  mysterious  workings  of 
Providence  might  if  possible  be  cleared  up,  and  the  relation  to 
human  affairs,  —  which  it  was  not  for  a  moment  doubted  they 
sustained,  —  be  so  adjusted  as  to  ])oint  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale. 
To  this  sagacious  foresiglit  we  owe  that  singularly  interesting 
book,  the  "  Kemarkable  Providences,"  of  Increas.'  Mather.  To 
this  we  also  owe  the  Double-Headcd  Snake  of  Newbury,  —  a 
reptile  that  would  certainly  have  made  the  fortune  of  any  itiiie- 


T 


:ii  11! 


II 


i 

, 

i 

■ 

i 

i 

i 

308 


NEVV-ENOLAND   LEGENDS. 


rant  showman  of  our  own  period,  luivu  put  the  four-l(>g<;o(l  j,'irl 
(',omi)lotely  into  tlie  .shade,  and  have  caused  the  devil-tish  of 
Victor  Hugo  to  shed  tears  of  vexation. 

The  account  of  this  M'onderful  snake  comes  in  a  letter  from 
the  Reverend  Christoplier  Toppan,  minister  of  Newbury,  ad- 
dressed to  Cotton  Matlier.  Considering  tliat  it  emanates  from 
a  source  so  entirely  respectable  and  trustworthy,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  nobody  will  treat  it  as  an  idle  village  tale.      He  writes  :  — 

"Concerning  the  Ami)hishfcna,  as  soon  as  I  received  your  commands 
I  made  diligent  enquiry  of  several  persons  who  saw  it  alter  it  was 
dead.  .  .  .  They  directed  me,  for  further  information,  .  .  .  to  the  per- 
sons who  saw  it  alive,  and  killed  it,  which  were  two  or  three  lads, 


:.^^yc.)-y:,^-^o-^^^^!^^^BIi^i-'C? 


^^&mm:^m±^f^Ki^^m 


YK   D0UHLE-HEADED   SNAKE. 

about  twelve  or  fourteen  ;  one  of  which,  a  pert,  sensible  youngster,  told 
me  yt  one  of  his  mates,  runiung  towards  him,  cryed  out  there  was  a 
snake  with  two  heads  running  after  him,  upon  which  he  run  to  him  ; 
and  the  snake  getting  into  a  puddle  of  water,  he  with  a  stick  pulled 
him  out,  after  which  it  came  toward  him,  and  as  he  went  backwards 
and  forward,  so  the  snake  Avould  doe  likewise.  After  a  little  time,  the 
snake,  upon  his  striking  at  him,  gathered  u])  his  whole  body  into  a 
sort  of  ([uoil,  except  botli,  heads,  whicli  kept  towards  him,  and  he  dis- 
tinctly saw  two  mouths  and  two  stinijs  (as  they  are  vulgarly  called), 
which  stings  or  tongues  it  kept  putting  forth  after  the  usual  manner 
of  snakes  till  he  killed  it. 


I  I 


1  It  1 


THE    DOUBLE-HEADED    SNAKE. 


309 


I 


i 


"i'osten><.  — Before  eiisealiii<,'  I  .^liokc  with  the  other  man  who 
examined  the  Aniphisbiena  (ami  he  is  also  ii  man  of  credit),  and  he 
assures  me  yt  it  had  really  two  heads,  one  ut  each  end,  two  mouths, 
two  stint's,  or  tongues,  and  so  forth. 

"Sir,  I  have  nothing  more  to  add,  but  that  he  may  have  a  remem- 
brance in  your  prayers  who  is, 

"  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

"  Christopher  Toppan." 


THE  DOUBLE-HEADED   SNAKE   OF   NEWBURY. 

J.   G.    WUITTIKH. 

Far  away  in  the  twilight  time 
Of  every  peo])h',  in  every  clime. 
Dragons  and  grillins  and  monsters  dire, 
IJorn  of  water,  and  air,  and  tire, 
Or  nursed,  like  the  Python,  in  tlic  mud 
And  ooze  of  the  old  Deucalion  Hood, 
Crawl  and  wriggle  and  foam  with  rage, 
Through  dusk  tradition  an<l  ballad  age. 
So  from  the  childhood  of  Newbury  town 
And  its  time  of  fable  the  tale  comes  down 
Of  a  terror  which  haunted  bush  and  brake. 
The  Amphisbajna,  the  Double  Snake  ! 


Whether  he  lurkod  in  the  Oldtown  fen 

Or  the  gray  earth-Hax  of  the  Devil's  Den, 

Or  swam  in  the  wooded  Artichoke, 

Or  coiled  by  the  Northman's  Written  Rock, 

Nothing  on  record  is  left  to  show ; 

Only  the  fact  that  he  lived,  we  know. 

And  left  the  cast  of  a  double  head 

In  the  scaly  mask  which  he  yearly  shed. 

For  he  carried  a  head  where  his  tail  should  be, 

And  the  two,  of  course,  could  never  agree, 

But  wriggled  about  with  main  and  might, 

Now  to  the  left  and  now  to  the  right ; 


I 


sr  % 


i 

l! 


^iO  NEW-KNOLAXI)   LKlJENDS. 

Pullin-,'  iuid  twistiii-,'  this  way  .iiid  ti 
NuilliLT  knew  wliul  thu  othur  was  al. 

Fur  and  wide  tlie  tale  was  told, 

Likt!  a  snowball -,'rowing  wliilc  it,  rolled. 

The  nurse  hushed  with  it  the  hahy's  cry  ; 

And  it  served,  in  the  worthy  niinister's  eye, 

To  paint  the  jjrimitive  ser])cnt  hy. 

Cotton  Mather  came  ^'alldiiin^'  down 

All  the  way  to  Newlniry  town. 

With  his  eyes  agog  and  his  ears  set  wide, 

And  his  marvellous  inkh(jrn  at  liis  side  ; 

Stirring  the  wiiile  in  the  sliallow  |)oi.l 

Of  his  l)rains  lor  the  lore  he  learned  al  sihool, 

1\>  garnish  the  story,  with  here  a  stieak 

01'  Latin,  and  there  anotliei'  of  Greek  : 

And  the  tales  he  heard  and  tlic  notes  lie  took. 

Behold!  are  they  not  in  his  Wonder- ]it)ok  / 


I 


TTIO.AIAS    MACY,    THE    EXILE. 

rp  I  IE  archivos  of  Massaclnisc^its  on(;o  more  furnish  tjie  inci- 
X    dent   conccrniDg   which,  as   in   the   "  King's  Missive,"  a 
letter  — a  mere  serap  — has  suili.;e<l  for  tlie  po.it  to  construct  liis 
legend. 

Thomas  :\racy,  yeoman,  of  Salisbury,  in  tlic  county  of  Essex, 
Is  the  subject  of  Whittier's  ballad  entitled  "The  Exiles,"  which 
first  ai)peare(l  in  the  "  Xorth  Star,"  a  Philadelpliia  annual.  As  it 
was  then  i)ublish(>.l,  it  bad  two  stanzas  more  tlian  it  now  has  in 
the  author's  collected  poems. 

This  ]\racy,  tlie  hero  of  the  poem,  was  complained  of  for  hav- 
ing given  .shelter  to  some  "notorious"  Quakers,  or  vagabonds, 
as  the  law  then  termed  them,  in  his  own  house.  This  simple 
act  of  hospitality  b.'ing  in  violation  of  tin;  law  jirohibiting  any 
man  to  oi)en  his  door  to  a  (^)unker.  no  matter  liow  urgent  soever 


THOMAS    MACY,   THE    EXILE 


I^ll 


tho  call  upon  his  luiiuiuiity  lui^'ht  be,  Macy,  the  oH'ciuling  cul- 
prit, was  cited  forthwith  to  appear  before  tho  (ieneral  Court  at 
IJoston  to  answer  the  complaint  prefernul  aj^^ainst  liiin. 

Instead  of  complying  with  the  requisition  which  very  few 
would  be  found  willing  in  those  days  to  disobey, "alacy  wrote  an 
huud)lo,  apologetic,  and  deprecatory  letter  to  the  (ieneral  Court. 
'IMie  letter  indicates  a  man  of  a  very  ilitl'erent  stamp  from  the 
antiiiue  hero  that  the  poem  depicts  in  the  act  of  cheating  the 
minions  of  the  law  of  their  prey.  From  it:;  tm-ms  we  have  little 
notion  that  the  "  Hold  Ma:;y,"  as  he  is  styled  there,  was  cast  in 
the  same  stern  mould  tliat  the  martyrs  are  ;  but  we  have  a  very 
<listinct  one,  that  if  not  actually  a  craven,  he  Ix'lieved  tliat  in  his 
case  discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor.  At  any  rate,  he 
wisely  concluded  to  keep  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  law,  and  did 
.so.  AVe  are  sure  that  tlie  reader  would  regard  any  tampering 
with  Macy's  letter  as  unpardonable  as  we  do.      He  says  :  — 


"  This  is  to  entreat  the  honored  court  not  to  be  offended  because 
of  my  non-appearance.  It  is  not  from  any  slighting  the  authority  of 
this  honored  court,  nor  from  feare  to  answer  the  case,  but  I  have  liin 
for  some  weeks  past  very  ill,  and  am  so  at  present,  and  notwithstand- 
ing my  illness,  yet  I,  desirous  to  appear,  liave  done  my  utmost 
endeavour  to  hire  a  horse,  but  cannot  iirocnri!  one  at  present.  1  bring 
at  present  destitute  liav(!  endeavoured  to  purchase,  l)Ut  at  present  can- 
not attaine  it,  but  I  shall  ii'late  the  truth  of  the  case  as  my  answer 
shoukl  l)e  to  ye  honored  couit,  and  more  cannot  be  proved,  nor  so 
much.  On  a  rainy  morning  there  came  to  my  house  Edward  AVhar- 
toii  and  three  men  more  ;  the  said  Wharton  spoke  to  me,  saying  that 
they  were  traveling  eastward,  and  desired  me  to  direct  them  in  the 
way  to  Hampton,  and  asked  me  how  far  it  was  to  Casco  l)ay.  I  never 
saw  any  of  ye  men  afore  except  Wharton,  neither  did  1  re([uire  their 
names,  or  who  they  were,  but  by  their  carriage  I  thought  they  might 
be  Quakers,  and  told  them  so,  and  therefore  desired  them  to  passe  on 
their  way,  saying  to  them  T  might  possibly  give  offence  in  entertain- 
ing them,  and  as  soone  as  the  violence  of  the  rain  ceased  (for  it  rained 
very  hard)  they  went  away,  and  T  never  saw  them  since.  The  time 
thfit  they  stayed  in  the  house  was  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour, 
but  I  can  safely  atJirme  it  was  not  an  hour.     They  spake  not  many 


312 


ne\v-kn(;lan I )  Li:( ; knds. 


words  ill  the  time,  neither  was  I  at  leisure  to  talke  with  tliom,  for  I 
came  home  we*  to  the  skin  immediately  alure  ihey  came  to  the  house, 
and  I  Inund  my  wile  sick  in  lied.  It"  this  satisiie  not  the  lionored 
court,  I  sliall  snl)jectto  their  sentence.  I  have  not  willingly  oilended. 
I  am  ready  to  Murve  and  obey  you  in  the  Lord. 

"Tho.  Macy." 


:>..^ 


i        I 


|i 


M  ) 


ESCAPE   OF    OnODMAN   MACY. 

Throe  of  these  men,  being  preacher.'^,  could  look  for  no  mercy 
from  tho  Puritan  anthoritios,  who  charged  them  witli  going  about 
seducing  his  Majesty's  goo<l  subjects  to  their  "oursed"  opinions. 
One  of  them,  Edward  Wharton,  was  an  old  ofl'ender  Two  of 
them,  Hobinson  and  Stevenson,  are  the  same  persons  who,  a 
little  later  on,  wore  hanged  at  Boston,  as  related  iu  our  account 
of  Mrs.  Dyer.  These  itinerants  undoubtedly  knew  where  to 
apply,  and  to  whom.  Macy  know  Wharton  ;  he  was  fully 
aware  of  tho  risk  that  he  ran  in  breaking  the  law.     But  he  and 


t  1  i 


|.«L 


THOMAS    MACY,   TIIK    F.XILE. 


313 


other  Quakers  of  Xewlniiy  uml  Siilisl)ury  liail  alroaily  purcliasfd 
tlic  Island  of  Nantucket,  to  which  it  now  sccius  ])roI)alilt)  that 
they  iutcniled  removing  out  of  liarni's  way,  as  thai  island  was 
not  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Bay  (,'olony. 

Having  thus  secured  an  asylum  in  advance,  and  the  (Jcncral 
Court  refusing  to  allow  his  explanation  or  accept  his  apology, 
traditi(jn  now  steps  in  to  iidorin  us  that,  immeiliately  upon 
learning  the  sentence  of  the  Court,  Macy  and  his  wife  took  an 
open  boat,  put  their  (•hildren  and  their  movable  effects  into  it, 
and  in  this  frail  conveyance  they  made  their  way  along  the 
coast  to  Cape  Cod,  and  thence  to  Xantncket.  Edward  Starbuck, 
of  Salisbury,  accompanied  them.  Through  persecution,  then, 
Macy  became  the  tirst  white  inhabitant  of  this  famed  isle  of  the 
sea  ;  an<l  from  his  landing  at  Maddequet  in  the  autumn  of  lOrdJ 
its  settlement  dates  in  history. 

The  ballad  supposes  Macy's  house  to  Ik;  suddeidy  surroundecl 
])y  a  troop  of  horsemen  while  the  pro.scribed  Whtirton  is  under 
the  protection  of  his  rotif  ;Macy  disputes  with  the  sheriff  until 
the  nunister,  who  is  sup[)os(!d  to  be  present,  urges  the  officer  also 
to  seize  Macy,  whereupon  the  goodman  and  his  wife,  breaking 
away  from  them,  run  for  the  river  :  — 

Hoi  speed  the  Macys,  neck  or  naught, — 

The  river-course  was  near:  — 
The  plashing  on  its  pebbled  shore 

Was  nuisic  to  their  ear. 


A  leap  —  they  gain  the  boat  — and  there 
The  goodman  wields  his  oar  : 

"111  luck  betide  them  all.'"—  he  cried,— 
"  The  laggards  upon  the  shore." 


Down  through  the  crashing  undervv'ood. 

The  burly  sheritF  came  :  — 
"Stand,  goodman  Macy,  —  yield  thyself; 

Yield  in  the  King's  own  name." 


W  ii 


K' 


-I 


:f  ' 


U14 


NEW-K  N( ;  L  AN  I )    L  E( ;  KN  DS. 

"  Xow  nut  ii]M)ii  thy  liaiigiimii's  I'ui'.e!" 
iSuld  Macy  uiiswl'IlmI  tlittii,  — 

"Whip  ivnmm  on  the  vilhi^c  green, 
But  lui'il(lli)  iKit  willi  men." 

With  siviUul  hand  and  wary  eye 
Tlu!  iiail)()i'-l)ar  was  crossed  ;  — 

A  phiylhinj,'  oi'  the  restless  wave, 
The  hoat  oil  ocean  tossed. 

They  passed  tjie  j^rmy  i-,,cks  ol'(,'ape  Ann, 
And  ( iloucester's  liarbor-har  ; 

The  wateh-tire  of  tiie  ,L;arrison 
Siioiie  lilie  a  settinj,'  star, 

Far  round  the  l)leali  and  sl(jrniy  Capo 

The  vent'inus  .Mary  ]ia>sed, 
And  on  Xantuc  kel's  naked  ish', 

Drew  up  Ids  linat  at  last. 

And  yet  that  ish;  reniaineth 

A  refu^'e  ol'  the  tree, 
As  when  tiiie-hearted  Macy 

buladd  it  IVoin  tlie  sea. 

God  bless  the  sea-beat  island  !  — 

And  grant  lor  evermore, 
That  charity  and  freedom  dwell 

As  now  upon  her  shore  ! 


TELLING    THE    BEES. 

T3  M'SPECTIXG  ])('es,  oik*  very  old  superstition  among  others 
J-  \)  i.s,  as  I  can  strictly  affirni,  still  cherished,  surviving,  ai)i)ar- 
ently,  through  that  peculiarity  of  the  mind  which,  tlie  event  being 
uncertain,  elects  to  give;  it  the  benelitof  the  doubt  rather  than  to 


TELL  INC    THE    IJEKS. 


315 


(liscanl  it  as  a  cliildisli  and  moaiiiiii^'less  custom.  This  in  tin'  I'nui- 
iiiDii  hclii'l'  that  hui's  must  hr  inado  acquainted  with  tiin  (h'atii  of 
any  nn'iuhcr  of  the  family,  nthcrwise  tht.'so  intcllij^'t'Ut  little,  crca- 
turt's  will  citlK!!'  tk'.surt  the  hivr  in  a  |)L't,  or  huivo  olf  workin;^'  and 
(lit!  inside  of  it.  The  old  way  of  doin;^'  this  was  for  the  j^'oodwifo 
of  the  house  to  go  and  han>;  the  stand  of  hives  with  hlaek,  the 
usual  symh(jl  of  mouvnin;;,  she  at  the  same  time;  suflly  humming 
some  doleful  tune  to  hiTsell'.      Auntlier  way  was  for  tiie  master 


'-  f'^ 


.  ^^ 


to  approach  tlie  hivos  and  rap  K'''>tly  ni*""  them.  When  the 
bees'  attention  was  thus  secured,  he  would  say  in  a  low  voice 
that  such  or  .such  a  person  —  mentioning  the  nanit;  —  was  dead. 
This  pretty  and  toucliing  superstition  is  the  subject  of  one  of 
Whittier's  "  Home  Ballads." 

Here  is  the  place  ;  right  over  the  hill 

Euiis  the  path  I  took  ; 
You  can  sei'  the  gaj)  in  the  old  wall  still, 

And  the  ste])ping-stones  in  the  shallow  brook. 

«  •  •  •  • 

There  are  the  beehives  raiiLjed  in  the  sun  ; 

And  down  by  the  brink 
Of  the  brook  are  her  poor  Howers,  weed  o'errun, 

Pansy  and  daifotlil,  rose  and  pink. 


rm  f 


316 


ne\v-e\(;lani»  legends. 


Before  them,  under  the  garden-wull, 

l'"<ir\viir(l  and  liack, 
Went  drearily  singing  the  chore-girl  small, 

Draping  each  hive  with  a  shred  of  hlack. 

Trend  iling,  I  listened  :  the  summer  sun 

Had  the  chill  oi'snow  ; 
For  I  knew  she  was  telling  the  bees  of  one 

Gone  on  the  journey  we  all  must  go  I 

Then  1  said  to  myself,  "  My  Mary  weeps 

For  the  dead  to-day  : 
llai)ly  her  lilind  old  grandsire  sleeps 

The  fret  iuid  the  pain  of  his  age  away." 


i       i 


But  her  dog  whined  low  ;  on  the  doorway  sill, 

With  his  cane  to  his  chin, 
The  old  man  sat  ;  and  the  chore-girl  still 

Suiig  to  the  bees  stealing  out  and  in. 
•  •  •  «  • 

"  Stay  at  htmie,  pretty  bees,  fly  not  hence ! 

Mistress  xMary  is  dead  and  gone !  " 


1 


iiitr* 


^art  €iff()tlj. 


4 


HAMPTON    AND    PORTSMOUTH    LEGENDS. 


!  Pff 


' 


i\ 


|i«r* 


./ 


HAMPTON    LEGENDS. 


TTinp^  strip  of  coast  extending  from  tlie  Merrimack  to  the 
-J-  Piscataqiia  is  an  almost  unbroken  line  of  hard  sand-heach 
washed  by  the  ocean.  S.disbury  Sands  begins  and  Hampton 
and  Rye  continue  the  line  that  is  only  interrujited  where  some 
creek  cuts  a  way  through  it,  or 
some  l)leak  foreland  tlirusts 
itself  out  from  the  shore.  Salis- 
bury has  for  mt)re  than  a  hun- 
dred years  lieen  celebrated  for 
the  a'Muial  gatherings  that  its 
citizens  hold  on  the  beach  there, 
in  iniitat'on  of  the  '*  clam  feasts" 
of  tlie  Indians,  with  whom  the 
custom  originated,  and  who  made 

the  occasion  one  of  much  ceremony  and  solemnity,  inasmuch 
as  the  sea  was  to  them  a  great  harvest-lield  provided  by  their 
God  of  Plenty  for  the  sustenance  of  Ins  red  chihlren. 

Whittier's  "  Tent  on  the  IJeach  "  was  pitched  at  the  mouth  of 
Hampton  liiver,  at  the  extremity  of  the  Salisbury  Sands ;  and 


BOA.R  S    IIKAI). 


PfT    f 


320 


NEW-ENGLAND   LE(;ENDS. 


i   I 


this  is  also  tho  locality  of  the  "  Wreck  of  Jiivennouth,"  fomul 
in  that  collection,  which  is  sometiiiug  in  the  muiiiier  of  Loiiy- 
fellow's  "  Tales  of  a  Wayside  lini,"  the  "  tent  "  liere  doing  the 
duty  of  the  ancient  tavcni  there.  Both  are,  l.'owever,  in  their 
method,  a  distinct  reminiscence  of  the  "  Deeamcrone "  of  Boc- 
caccio, lint  Whittier's  is  a  voice  arising  from  the  .sea,  full  of  its 
charm  and  mystery.     Staiiding  at  his  tent  door,  — 

Northward  a  green  bluit'  broke  the  chain 
01'  siind-hills  ;  southward  stretched  a  plain 
01'  salt-grass,  with  a  river  winding  down. 
Sail-whitened,  and  beyond  the  steejdes  (;f  the  town. 

That  is  Boar's  Head ;  the  Merrimack,  with  Newburyjiort  in 
the  distance. 

Again,  the  jjoet  points  na  to  — 

the  sunny  isles  in  view, 
East  of  the  grisly  Head  of  the  Boar ; 

and  tiien  to  "where  — 

Agamenticus  lifts  its  blue 
Disk  of  a  cloud  the  woodlands  o'er. 

So  we  feel  that  the  "  Tent  on  the  Beach,"  instead  of  emanat- 
ing from  within  the  narrow  limits  of  four  walls,  where  the  doors 
are  securely  bolted  and  barred  against  the  weather,  is  the  voice 
of  Xature  herself,  —  of  the  free  breeze,  the  billows,  and  the  foam, 
whicli  imparts  the  invigorating  ciuality  to  these  verses,  and  gives 
them  a  distinct  and  captivating  out-of-door  flavor. 

Of  his  legendary  stories  that  are  associated  with  Hampton  the 
poet  says :  — 

A  simple  plot  is  mine :  legends  and  runes 
Of  credulous  days  ;  old  fancies,  that  have  lain 
Silent  from  boyhood,  taking  voice  again, 
Warmed  into  life  once  more,  even  as  the  tunes 
That,  frozen  in  the  faV)led  hunting-horn, 
Thawed  into  sound. 


tH  : 

!  J  I  I    ;    ' 

nsiH^  i  i  J 

iUt,  >  I 


H 


I 


HAMPTON   LEGENDS. 


321 


Haiujiton,  fi)riiiei'ly  the  Indian  Winnicuniet,  is  an  ukl  bonier 
scttk'iiu'ut  of  the  J5uy  (Julony,  tliat  was  transl'eiTed,  through  tlie 
blundering  of  her  agents,  to  New  Hampshire  wlien  the  long 
dispute  about  the  boundary  betwecai  the  two  governments  was 
finally  settled.  The  singular  and  a])parently  eccentric  course  of 
this  line,  resendjling  a  Virginia  fence,  is  not  duo  to  chance,  but 
to  the  crookedness  of  Colonial  politics.  While  this  controversy 
was  pending,  the  legislative  bodies  of  both  governments  once 
held  a  session  at  Hampton  Falls,  —  which  course,  it  was  thought, 
by  bringing  tlie  rival  interests  together,  miglit  end  the  <li.spute, 
but  did  not.  Whereupon  some  poetaster  of  the  period  gave  tlie 
following  rhymed  version  of  the  "  pomp  and  circumstance " 
attending  the  entry  of  the  iMassachusetts  dignitaries  into  the 
humble  frontier  \illage.     He  says  :  — 

Dear  Paddy,  you  ne'er  did  behold  such  a  siglit 

As  yesterday  morning  was  seen  Ix'fi're  night. 

You  in  all  your  born  days  saw,  nor  I  did  n't  neither. 

So  many  tine  liorses  and  men  ride  togetbei'. 

At  the  liead  the  lower  bouse  trotted  two  in  a  row, 

Then  all  the  higher  bouse  pranced  after  the  low  ; 

Then  the  Governor's  coach  galloped  on  like  the  wind. 

And  the  last  that  came  foremost  were  troojjcrs  behind. 

But  I  fear  it  means  no  good  to  your  neck  nor  nune. 

For  they  say  't  is  to  fix  a  right  place  Ibr  the  line. 

As  soon  as  you  have  crossed  this  line,  the  people,  pointing 
toward  their  mountains,  will  tell  you  that  there  is  no  air  like  New- 
Hampshire  air.  As  soon  as  you  shall  have  passed  beyond  this 
boundary  you  no  longer  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  the  old 
Puritan  life,  but  one  emanating  from  a  different  and  antagonistic 
source,  —  into  which,  nevertheless,  the  more  vigorous  currents 
originating  on  the  other  side  of  the  border  constantly  infused 
themselves  and  kept  it  pure. 

The  most  interesting  thing  about  Ham.pton,  apart  from  its 
legends,  is  the  singular  promontory  of  Boar's  Head,  whicli  is 
one  of  the  noted  resorts  of  the  New-England  coast,  and  one  of 
the  earliest  to  be  visited  for  health  or  pleasure. 

21 


m  r 


322 


NEW-ENC;  LAN  I )    LE(  i  EN  DS. 


Boar's  Head  is  imlooil  a  jiuzzle.  It  is  a  lieap  of  drift  ^'ontly 
asceiuliiig  I'rum  tlio  luarshos  tn  tlu;  cnmihliiig  hrow  nf  a  lofty 
headland,  ai^ainst  wiiicli,  far  below  you,  the  .sea  dashes  wildly. 
The  bowlders  sliekiug  in  its  sides  look  as  it"  they  might  have; 
been  shot  there  in  the  days  when  stones  su[)j)lie(l  the  want  of 
cannon-balls;  for  we  look  around  without  seeing  anything  to 
aeeount  for  their  presence.  It  is  wind-swept  and  treeless.  A  few 
dwarf  junipers  and  some  chiuips  of  bushes  cling  mournfully  to  its 
sides,  which  they  arc  unable  to  ascend.  A  low  reef  stretching 
out  towards  the  southeast,  resendding  the  brcjken  verteljne  of 
som,e  fabled  sea-monster,  shows  in  what  direction  the  grand  old 
headland  has  most  suifered  fnjui  the  unremitting  work  of  demo- 
lition carritid  on  by  the  waves,  which  pour  and  l)reak  like  an 
avalanche  over  the  blackened  bowlders,  and  lly  hissing  into  the 
air  like  the  dust  rising  from  its  ruins.  As  if  to  coiilirm  this 
theory,  nothing  grows  on  the  southeast  point,  while  on  the 
northeast  grasses  flourish  and  daisies  nod  to  the  cool  sea-breeze. 
We  say  again,  IJoar's  Head  is  a  imzzle. 

It  is  indeed  an  inspiring  sight  to  see  the  surf  breaking  on 
each  side  of  you  in  a  continuous  Vuw  of  foam  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Merrimack  to  Little  IJoar's  Head,  and  then,  turning  tow- 
ards the  ofling,  see  the  dark  (duster  of  the  isles  of  Shoals  lying 
low  on  the  still  more  extended  expanse  of  the  ocean. 


JONATHAN  MOULTON  AND  THE  DEML. 

(From  "The  Heart  of  tlio  Wliito  Mountains.") 

THE  leg(inilary  hero  of  Hampton  is  General  Jonathan 
^loulton.  He  is  no  fictitious  per-sonage,  but  one  of  ver- 
itable fl(!sli  and  Vdood,  who,  having  acquired  considerable  celebrity 
in  the  old  wars,  lives  on  through  the  nKnlium  of  a  local  legend. 

The  General,  says  the  legend,  encountered  a  far  more  notable 
adversary  than  Abenaki  warriors  or  conjurers,  among  whom  ho 


T 


»« 


J'       ' 


324 


xp:w-englani)  le(;en'1)s. 


Iiml  livod,  and  wlioiii  it  was  tlio  passion  of  his  life  to  cxtor- 
niinati'. 

In  an  ovil  hour  his  yearning  to  amass  wealth  siuhUnily  led 
him  to  declare  that  he  would  sell  his  soul  for  the  possession  of 
iinhoundod  richos.  Think  of  the  J)evil,  and  lie  is  at  your  elbow. 
The  fatal  declaration  was  no  sooner  made  —  the  (Jeneral  was 
sitting,'  alone  hy  his  hreside  —  than  a  sliowcr  of  sparks  came 
down  the  chimney,  out  of  which  stepped  a  man  dressed  from 
top  to  toe  in  hlack  velvet.  The  astonished  Moulton  noticed 
that  the  stranger's  rullles  were  not  even  smutted. 

"  Your  servant,  General !  "  rpiotli  the  stranger,  suavely.  "  Thit 
let  us  make  haste,  if  you  please,  for  I  am  expected  at  the  (iov- 
eruor's  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  he  added,  picking  up  a  live 
coal  with  his  thumb  and  foreihiger,  and  consulting  his  watch 
with  it. 

The  General's  wits  began  to  desert  him.  Portsmouth  was 
five  leagues  —  long  ones  at  that  —  from  Hampton  House,  and  his 
strange  visitor  talked,  with  the  utmost  unconcern,  of  getting 
there  in  fifteen  minutes!  His  astonishment  caused  him  to  stam- 
mer out,  — 

"  Then  you  must  be  the  —  '" 

"Tush!  what  signifies  a  name?"  interrupted  the  strangt>r, 
with  a  deprecating  wave  of  the  liand.  "  C'>me,  do  we  under- 
stand each  other?     Is  it  a  bargain,  or  not?" 

At  the  talismanic  word  "  bargain  "  the  General  pri(!ked  up  his 
ears.  He  had  often  been  heard  to  say  that  neither  man  nor 
devil  could  get  the  better  of  him  in  a  trade.  He  took  out  Ins 
jack  knife  and  began  to  whittle.  The  Devil  took  out  his,  and 
began  to  pare  his  nails. 

"  But  what  proof  have  I  that  you  can  perform  what  you 
promise  1 "  demanded  !Moulton,  pursing  up  his  mouth  and  con- 
tracting his  bushy  eyebrows,  like  a  man  who  is  not  to  be  taken 
in  by  mere  appearances. 

The  fiend  ran  his  fingers  carelessly  through  his  peruke,  when 
a  .shower  of  golden  guineas  fell  to  the  floor  and  rolled  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  room.     The  General  (juickly  .stooped  to  pick 


JONATHAN    MUULTON    AND    TIIH    DKVIL. 


325 


I 


U])  one;  but  no  sooner  had  his  fingers  closed  upon  it,  tlian  iio 
dropped  ii  with  a  yell.     It  was  rod-hot! 

The  l)evil  ehuekled  ;  "  Try  a,L,'ain,"  he  said.  l')Ut  .Moultiui 
shook  his  head  and  retreated  a  steji. 

"Don't  he  afraid." 

]\Ioulton  cautiously  touehed  a  coin  ;  it  was  cool,  Ifo  wein'h(>(l 
it  in  his  hand,  and  rung  it  on  tlie  table  ;  it  was  full  \vei<;lit  ami 
true  ring.  Tlien  ho  wont  down  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and 
began  to  gather  up  the  guineas  Avith  feverish  haste. 

"Are  you  satisfied?"  demanded  Satan. 

"Completely,  your  Majesty." 

"  Then  to  business.  15y  the  way,  have  you  anything  to  drink 
in  the  house?" 

"There  is  some  Did  Jamaica  in  the  cupboard." 

"  Excellent !  I  aiu  as  thirsty  as  a  I'uritan  on  election-day," 
said  the  Devil,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  and  negligently 
flinging  his  mantle  back  over  his  shoulder,  so  as  to  show  tiio 
jew(!llod  clasps  of  his  doublet. 

^foulton  brought  a  decanter  and  a  couple  of  glasses  from  the 
cupboard,  filled  one,  and  passed  it  to  his  infernal  guest,  who 
tasted  it,  and  smacked  his  lips  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 
Moulton  watched  every  gesture.  "  Does  your  Excellency  not 
find  it  to  your  taste?"  he  ventured  to  ask;  having  the  secret 
idea  that  he  might  get  the  Devil  drunk,  and  so  outwit  hiiu. 

"  H'm,  I  have  drunk  worse.  But  let  me  show  you  how  to 
make  a  salamander,"  replied  Satan,  touching  the  lighted  end  of 
the  taper  to  the  liquor,  which  instantly  burst  into  a  spectral  blue 
flame.  The  fiend  then  r'^i^ed  the  tankard  to  the  height  of  his 
eye,  glanced  api^rovingly  vt  the  blaze,  —  which  to  Moultnn's 
disordered  intellect  resembled  an  adder's  forkeil  and  agile  tongue, 
—  nodded,  and  said,  patronizingly,  "To  our  better  ac([uaint- 
ance  ! "     He  then  quaffed  the  contents  at  a  single  gulp. 

Monlton  shuddered  ;  this  was  not  the  way  he  had  been 
used  to  seeing  healths  drunk,  lie  pretended,  however,  to  drink, 
for  fear  of  giving  offence  ;  but  somehow  the  liquor  choked  him. 
The  demon  set  down  the  tankard,  and  observed,  in  a  matter-of- 


w.  ^ 


¥f 


326 


NFAV-KNCLANI)    LKC.KNDS. 


11 


!l 


fixct  way  that  put  his  li,-;tciii-r  in  a  cohl  sweat  :  "  Now  that  ymi 
aro  conviuecd  1  am  abhi  to  make  you  tho  richest  man  in  ull  thu 
l)rovinee,  listen!  Have  I  your  uar?  It  is  wijU!  In  considera- 
tion of  your  agreement,  duly  signed  and  sealed,  to  deliver  your 
soul  "  —  here  he  drew  a  parchment  from  his  l)reast  —  "  I  en;^'aj,n', 
on  my  jtart,  on  the  first  day  of  every  month,  to  fill  your  hoots 
with  golden  elephants,  like  tliese  before  yon.  IJut  mark  nn' 
well,"  said  Satan,  holdin;^'  up  a  forelin^'er  glittering  with  dia- 
monds, "if  you  try  to  play  me  any  trick,  yon  will  repent  it !  1 
know  you,  .Jonathan  Moulton,  and  shall  kei-p  my  eyi;  upon  you  ; 
so  beware  !  " 

Moulton  llinclieil  a  little  at  this  plain  speech;  ])ut  a  tliought 
seemed  to  strike  iiini,  and  he  brightened  up.  Satan  ojKMied  the 
scroll,  smoothed  out  the  crea.ses,  dipped  a  pen  in  the  inkhorn  at 
his  girdle,  and  pointing  to  a  blaidc  space,  .said,  laconically, 
■"  Sign  ! " 

^loulton  hesitated. 

*'lf  yon  are  afraid,"  sneere<l  Satan,  "why  ])ut  me  to  all  this 
trouble]"  and  he  liegan  to  put  tho  gold  in  his  ])0cket. 

His  vi(;tini  .sin/.ed  the  pen;  but  his  hand  shook  so  that  he  conld 
not  write.  lie  gulped  down  a  mouthful  of  rum,  stole  a  look  at 
his  inf(,'rnal  guest,  who  nodded  his  head  l)y  way  of  (Micourage- 
nient,  and  a  second  time  a|)])roaohed  his  pen  to  the  paper.  The 
struggle  was  soon  over.  The  unhappy  Moulton  wrote  his  name 
at  the  bottom  of  the  fatal  list,  which  he  was  astonished  to  see 
numbered  some  of  the  highest  jHirsonages  in  the  province!.  "I 
shall  at  least  be  in  good  company,"  he  mutt(!red. 

"  Good  !"  .said  Satan,  rising  and  jmtting  the  .scroll  carefully 
away  within  his  breast.  "  IJely  on  me,  (Jeneral,  and  bo  sure  you 
keep  I'aith.  liciuember !  "  So  saying,  the  demon  waved  his 
hand,  flung  his  mantle  about  him,  and  vanished  up  the  chimney. 

Satan  ])erformed  his  part  of  the  contract  to  the  letter.  On  the 
lirst  day  of  tivery  month  the  l)oots,  which  were  hung  on  tho  crane 
in  the  fireplace  the  night  before,  were  found  in  the  morning  stutt'ed 
full  of  guineas.  It  is  tru(>  that  Moulton  had  ran.sackod  the  vil- 
lage for  the  large.st  pair  to  be  found,  and  had  finally  secured  a 


JONATHAN    MOULTUN    AND   TUK    DEVIL. 


■6-11 


braco  of  tronijcr's  jiick-buots,  wliicli  cami!  nearly  up  in  tho 
wcai'ci'.s  lliij,'li ;  but  tlm  coutiarl  meruly  oxiu'l'.sswI  Ijouts,  and 
tho  Devil  ilocs  not  .stand  upon  tritles. 

Mdulton  rollt'il  in  woaltli  ;  tn-isrything  prospered,  ili.s  neigh- 
bors regarded  him  iir.st  with  envy,  then  with  aversion,  at  last 
with  fear.  Xot  a  lew  atliriniMl  that  \w.  had  enLereil  into  a 
league  with  the  KvilOu  .  ( )tliers  shook  their  heails,  saying, 
"What  does  it  signify^ — that  man  wmdd  outwit  the  l)evil 
himseli'." 

J5ut  one  miirning,  when  tlu!  fiend  came  us  usual  lu  lill  tlie 
boots,  what  was  his  astoinshnient  to  lind  that  hi;  could  nut  lill 
them.  Ho  pounsd  in  tho  guineas,  but  it  was  like  pouring  water 
into  a  ratdiole.  The  more  he  put  in,  tho  more  the  (piantity 
secMued  to  dinunish.  In  vain  he  ])ersisted  ;  the  boots  eould  not 
be  ilUed. 

Th(!  Devil  .scratched  his  ear.  "  J  nuist  hjok  into  this,"  he 
retlected.  No  sooner  .said,  than  ho  attemi)t(Ml  to  descend  ;  but  in 
doing  .so  he  found  his  progress  suddenly  stopped.  A  good 
reason.  The  chimney  was  choked  up  with  guineas  !  Foaming 
with  rage,  tho  demon  tore  the  boots  from  tho  crane.  The  crafty 
(ieneral  had  cut  otf  the  soles,  leaving  only  tho  legs  for  the  Dovil 
to  lill.     Tho  chand)er  was  knee-deep  with  gold. 

The  Devil  gave  a  horrible  grin,  and  disappeared.  Tho  same 
night  Hampton  House  was  l)urned  to  the  ground,  tho  ( loneral  only 
escaping  in  his  shirt.  He  had  been  dreaming  ho  was  ilead  and 
in  hell.  His  precious  guineas  wore  secreted  in  tho  wainscot,  the 
ceiling,  and  other  hiding-places  known  only  to  himself.  He 
blasjdiotued,  wept,  and  tore  his  hair.  Suddenly  ho  grew  calm. 
After  all,  the  loss  was  not  irreparable,  he  reflected,  (iold  would 
melt,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  would  lind  it  all,  —  of  coiu'se  ho  woidd,  — 
at  daybreak,  run  into  a  solid  lump  in  the  cellar,  —  every  guinea. 
That  is  true  of  onlinary  gold. 

The  General  worked  with  the  energy  of  despair,  clearing  away 
the  rubbish.  He  refused  all  oilers  of  assistance  ;  Ik;  dared  not 
accept  them.  But  the  gold  had  vanished.  Whether  it  was 
really  consumed,  or  had  passed  again  into  the  massy  entrails  of 


V  W    '    ^ 


IP 


"Sill 


I  if 


■  I 


UJS 


NKW-KNCiLAM)    l.KtiKNDS. 


the  earth,  will  ncviv  he  kiinwii.  It  is  only  certain  that  every 
vestij^'c  of  it  liail  (lisaiiiicarcd. 

Wlicn  the  (ienemlilii'(l  ami  was  buried,  .strange  rumors  began 
t(»  eirculate.  To  ([uiet  them,  the  grave  was  ('iieiied ;  but  wlien 
the  h(l  was  remuveil  I'rum  the  coiUn,  it  was  t'ouml  to  be  empty. 

Another  legend  runs  to  the  eflect  that  upon  the  death  of  bis 
wife  under — as  evil  report  would  have  it  —  very  8usi)ieious 
eireunistances,  the  (leneral  paiil  his  eoiu't  to  a  young  won)an 
who  liad  been  the  eompanion  of  his  deceased  s[)ousc.  They 
were  married.  In  the  niidille  of  the  night  the  young  bridt! 
awoke  with  a  start.  Slie  felt  an  invisible  hand  trying  to  take 
otf  from  her  hnger  the  wedding-ring  that  had  once  belonged  to 
the  <lead  and  bnriol  Mrs.  Moulton.  Shrieking  with  frigiit,  she 
jumped  out  of  bed,  thus  awMking  her  husband,  who  trie(l  in 
vain  U>  calm  her  fears.  Candles  were  lighted  and  search  made 
for  the  ring;  but  as  it  could  never  be  found  again,  the  ghostly 
visitor  was  supposed  to  have  carried  it  away  with  her.  This 
story  is  the  same  that  is  told  by  Whitlier  in  the  "New  Wife 
and  the  Old." 


GOODY     COLE. 

GOOnWIFE  Eunice  Cole,  the  witch  of  Hampton,  was  for  a 
([uarter  of  a  century  or  more  the  terror  of  the  people  of 
that  town,  who  believed  her  to  have  sold  herself  body  and  soul 
to  the  Devil.  WIkhu  we  hate  we  also  fear.  The  bare  mention 
of  her  name  would,  it  is  .said,  hush  crying  children  into  silence, 
or  hurry  truant  boys  to  .school.  Although  she  was  repeatedly 
thrown  into  prison,  sin;  was  yet  unaccountably  suffered  to  con- 
tinue to  live  the  life  of  an  outcast,  until  death  finally  freed  the 
community  from  their  fears.  In  IfiSO  she  was  brought  before 
the  Quarter  Sessions  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  being  a  witch  ; 
and  though  there  was  "noe  full  proof"  that  she  was  a  witch,  yet 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  Court,  which  "vehemently  suspects  her 


1' 


TIIH    WliKCK    (IK    UIVKli.MolTIl. 


329 


Hit  to  he,"  and  prolialily  too  of  the  people,  Major  Wiildnm,  tlie 
presiding'  iiia^'istrate,  ordt'ro(l  licr  to  l)e  iiiiprisoiicd,  with  "a  lipck 
kept  oil  lier  le^',"  at  tlie  [ileasiini  of  the  Court.  As  she  was  (irst 
prosecuted  as  early  us  IO">(i,  .she  iiiiist  have  lieeii  a  very  old 
woman  when  this  harsh  sctit.'nee  was  proiioimciMl.  l-'or  suiue 
years  —  how  many  it  is  not  known  —  (.ioody  Coh;  lived  ainur  in  a 
hovel  wiiieh  stood  a  little  way  back  from  the  .spot  where  I  he 
Academy  now  stands  ;  and  in  this  wretclicd  hut,  without  a  friend 
to  sootJKi  her  last  moments,  she  miseral)ly  died.  Several  days 
ehipsetl  helbro  iier  deatli  l^ecame  known;  and  even  then,  such 
was  the  fear  licr  .supj)used  powers  had  inspire(l,  that  it  rcipiiied 
a  j,'reat  deal  of  coura,i,'e  on  the  part  of  the  inhahitants  to  force 
an  entrance,  into  her  cahin,  where  she  lay  dead.  When  tliis  had 
heeii  done,  the  body  was  dragj^^cd  outside,  a  b<ile  hastily  dug, 
into  which  it  was  tund)led,  and  then  —  eonformalily  with  current 
superstition  —  a  stake  was  driven  liirough  it,  in  order  to  exorcise 
the  baleful  inlluenee  slus  was  supposed  to  have  posses.sed. 

The  ballad  supposes  her  to  havc^  cast  the  spell  of  her  malevo- 
lence over  a  merry  company  of  villagers  who  .sailed  out  of  the 
river  for  a  day  of  jdeasure,  —  soon  t(j  be  turned  into  mourning 
by  tlie  tlrowning  of  the  whole  party,  the  storm  in  which  they 
perished  being  raised  l)y  (Jooily  Cole. 


THE   WIJECK   OF   L'lVErtMOUTH. 


J.  <i.  WHITTIKR. 

Onck,  ill  tlie  old  Colonial  days. 

Two  liiuidred  years  ago  and  more, 
A  boat  sailed  down  through  the  winding  ways 

(^f  Hanipton  River  to  that  low  shore, 
Full  of  a  ^(lodly  coiinjany 
Sailing  nut  on  the  summer  sea, 
Veering  to  catch  the  laii(l-l)reeze  light. 
With  the  l]oar  to  left  and  the  Eocks  to  right. 


i  \P! 


a. 


HI 


ji 


330  XE\V-EN'(ILAN1)    LKLJENDS. 

"  Fie  oil  tlic  witch  !  "  criwl  :i  incrrv  j^ivl, 

As  tiu'V  louiidtnl  the  ]M)iiit  wlitTi;  (ioody  Coin 

Silt  l)y  hiT  door  with  Iut  wiiccl  atwiil, 
A  Lent  and  bk'ur-cytid  j)oor  ohl  soul. 

"  Oho  !  "  s!ie  iimttiTL'd,  "  yv  're  hravi!  to-diiy  ! 

But  I  ln'ar  the  little  waves  ]au,L,di  and  say, 

'The  bidtli  will  l)e  cold  that  waits  at  home  ; 

For  it 's  one  to  ^'o,  hut  another  to  coine  !'  " 

"  She  's  cursed,"  said  the  skijiper  ;  "  speak  her  fair 

I  'ni  scary  always  to  see  liei'  shake 
Her  wicked  head,  with  its  wild  ,u;ray  liair, 

And  nose  like  a  hawk,  and  eyes  like  a  snake." 
But  merrily  still,  with  lau,L;li  and  shout, 
From  Har.pToii  Iviver  the  boat  sailed  out, 
Till  the  huts  and  the  ihikes  on  Star  seemed  nigh, 
And  they  lost  the  scent  of  the  pines  of  Rye. 

They  dropped  their  lines  in  the  lazy  tide, 
Drawinjj;  up  haddoidv  and  mottled  cod  ; 
Tiiey  saw  not  the  Shadow  that  walked  beside, 

They  heard  not  the  feet  with  silence  shod. 
But  thicker  and  thicken-  a  hot  mist  grew. 
Shot  by  the  li,glitnin,i,'s  throUL,di  and  throui;h  ; 
And  mufiled  growls,  like  tlie  growl  of  a  beast, 
Ran  along  the  skv  iVoni  west  to  east. 


The  skipper  hauled  at  the  heavy  sail  : 
"  God  be  our  helj) ! ''  he  only  cried, 
As  the  roaring  gale,  like  the  stroke  of  a  Hail, 

Smote  the  Ijoat  on  its  starboard  side. 
The  Shoalsmen  looked,  but  saw  alone 
Dark  fdms  of  rain-(doud  slantwise  blown. 
Wild  rocks  lit  u])  by  tiie  lightning's  glare. 
The  strife  and  torment  of  sea  and  air. 

Goody  Cole  looked  out  iVom  her  dooi' : 

The  Isles  of  Shoals  were  drowned  and  gone. 

Scarcely  she  .saw  the  Head  of  the  Boar 
Toss  the  foam  from  tusks  of  stone. 


r*^-'^ 


rOKTSMOUTH    LEGENDS. 

She  clasped  lier  liaiuls  with  a  grip  dI"  puiii, 
The  tear  on  liur  cliei'k  was  not  ot'  rain  : 
"They  an;  h)st,"  slu;  mutten-il,  "  Ijuat  ami  civw  I 
Lord,  forgive  nm  1  my  words  were  true  I  " 

Siultlenly  seaward  swept  the  si[iiall  ; 

The  low  siiii  .snioti;  tlircjiigh  eloiidy  rai  k  ; 
The  Shoals  stood  clear  in  the  light,  and  all 

The  trend  of  the  coast  lay  hard  and  black. 
But  far  and  wi<le  as  eye  could  reach, 
No  YiU:  was  seen  upon  wave  or  l)each  ; 
The  hoat  that  went  out  at  morning  never 
Sailed  hack  again  into  Hampton  liiviM; 


S'M 


PORTSxMOUTI  I     LECxENDS. 


ri'lIIK  early  voyagers  soon  discovered  tiii;  Piscataijua  Jiiver, 
_1_  and  lliey  (piickly  perceived  its  advantages  as  a  liarhor. 
There  "was  Agamonticus  for  a  landmark,  and  tliere  was  a  swift- 
llowing  tide,  wliich  the  natives  told  them  was  never  frozen. 
There  were  spacious  basins,  deep  and  sheltered,  in  wliich  a  navy 
nnglit  ride  securely  ;  and  there  were  also  high  and  gently  slop- 
ing l)anks,  over  which  the  swaying  pines  looked  down  upon  their 
own  dark  shadows  in  the  eddying  stream  helow.  The  river  was 
found  to  conduct  into  a  fertile  and  heavily-timbered  region,  of 
which  it  was  the  natural  outlet.  The  shores  were  seen  to  afford 
admirable  sites  for  the  settlement  that  one  and  the  other  were 
destined  to  support. 

This  was  accordingly  bi'gun  in  1()2.'5,  under  the  direction  and 
by  the  authority  of  (Jorges  and  Mason,  in  wliom  the  successful 
experiment  of  the  Plymouth  Pilgrims  Inul  inspired  new  h()])es  of 
turning  their  royal  grants  to  a(;count, 

The  promoters  of  the  settlement  were  Churchmen,  who  had 
little  sympathy  with  I'uritan  ideas,  and   none  at  all   with    its 


w 


332 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


!       I 


scilieiiic  of  govcriuicnt ;  and  iis  snnio  of  thos(!  wlio  Imd  1'ouihI 
till!  rule  of  tlu'so  itlciis  too  liiU'd  for  their  stoiuiiclis  had  removed 
iuto  New  Hami)riliire,  a  prejudice  grew  up  1ietwe(!ii  thti  two  com- 
niuuities,  whicli  for  tlic  rest,  alford  to  the  stuileiit  of  history  an 
example  of  two  diverse  systems  growing  up  sid(!  bv  side. 
Wheelwright  and  his  friends  were  of  the  latter  class.  Time, 
mutual  interest,  and  the  rapid  ascendency  obtained  by  the  sister 
colony,  with  other  <'onsitlerations,  linally  closed  the  bn.'ach. 

The  system  of  ( Jorgea  and  Mason,  to  establish  a  colony  of  ten- 
ants having  only  leasehokls  su1)ject  to  (put-rents,  whidi  they 
shoidd  govern  l)y  their  agents,  worked  only  eventual  evil  to 
themselves.  It  was  an  attempt  to  graft  the  landed  system  of 
Old  ujjon  Xew  Kngland  l)y  the  side  of  the  freehold  plan  of  the 
thrifty  and  sagacious  Massachusetts  patentees;  and  it  was  a  dis- 
astrous failure.  Finding  that  tliey  were  growing  poor,  while  the 
Puritan  freeholders  were  growing  rich,  tlie  people  threw  oif  their 
yoke,  and  sought  a  union  with  Massachusetts. 

Still,  the  old  leaven  of  prejudice  survived  in  the  descendants 
of  tlie  original  iidiabitants,  who  loved  r  'alty  and  its  forms, 
adhered  to  the  Mother-Church  and  its  traditions,  and  felt  'no 
symi)atliy  wiiatcver  for  the  austere  manners,  the  rigid  economy, 
or  tlie  (piasi-ecdesiastical  government  of  their  more  pinvi-rful 
neighbors.  These  ])eople  gave  tone  to  the  jirincipal  settlement; 
and  since  there  was  no  aristocracy  of  blood,  one  of  wealth  rose 
an<l  nourished  in  its  stead. 

As  the  capital,  the  chief  town,  and  the  only  seaport  of  the 
province,  Portsmouth  long  etijoyed  a  peculia.'  distinction.  It 
remained  the  political  centre  until  the  seat  of  g;'vcrnment  was 
transferred,  early  in  the  present  century,  to  the  interior  of  the 
State.  Inevital)le  changes  turned  commerce  into  other  channels. 
Its  commercial  importance  waned,  progress  was  arrested,  and  the 
place  came  to  a  standstill  ;  ami  it  is  to-day  more  remarkalile  for 
wliat  it  has  been  than  for  what  it  is. 

Therefore  Portsmouth  has  the  stamp  of  a  coin  of  fifty  years 


ago.     It  is  of  the  true  weight  and  ring,  but  the   date  and  the 
legend  are  old.     The  best  houses  are  still  the  oldest ;  and  those 


TIIK    STOXE-TIIKOWING    DKVIL. 


of  the  Wentwortlis,  tln!  Langdnns,  and  tlio  Slicrbunios,  rival 
the  traditional  s[)U'ndc)r.s  of  the  ('ulonial  niansion.s  of  the  I'uiitun 
capital  in  spaciousness,  richness  of  decoration,  and  that  rare 
combination  of  simplicity  and  elegance  which  lifted  the  Colonial 
magnate  above  the  heads  of  his  own  generation,  and  has  made 
his  housekeei)ing  the  admiration  of  ours.  It  is  among  these  old 
houses  that  wi;  must  look  for  our  legendary  lore. 

The  West  of  England  seaports  are  known  to  have  furnished 
a  great  proportion  of  the  original  settlers  in  New  ICngland  ;  and 
certainly  ]io  class  were  more  susceptible  to  the  influence  of 
superstition  than  these  sea-faring  or  sea-subsisting  people.  Upon 
i/he  folk-lore  of  home  Wiis  now  grafted  that  uf  the  Indian  ;  whilst 
over  this  again  hovereil  the  mystery  of  an  unexplored  country, 
—  in  itself  a  keen  spur  to  the  appetite  that  grows  with  what 
it  feeds  upon.  The  region  round  about  Portsmouth,  Newcastle, 
Kittery,  York,  and  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  is  therefore,  prolilic  in 
legends  of  a  homely  and  primitive  kind  ;  (ine  of  which  we  are 
about  to  relate. 


THE   STONE-THROWING   DEVIL. 


UXDKU  the  title  of  "  Lithobolia,"  the  story  of  the  Stone- 
Throwing  Devil  was  printed  in  London  in  the  year  1(598. 
It  purports  to  lie  the  narrative  of  an  eye-witness,  and  is  signed 
with  the  initials  "  \l.  C."  This  tract,  consisting  of  a  few  leaves 
only,  is  now  extremely  rare  ;  but  a  synopsis  of  its  contenis 
may  be  found  in  the  "Wonderful  Providences"  of  Increase 
Mather. 

George  Walton  was  an  inhabitant  of  Portsmoutli  in  the  year 
1082.  He  had  incurred  the  bitter  enmity  of  an  old  woman  of 
the  neighborhood  by  taking  from  her  a  strip  of  land  to  which 
she  laid  claim ;  and  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  writers  whom  we 
have  quoted  that  she,  being  a  witch,  was  at  the  liottom  of  all 
the  mischief  that  subsequently  drove  Walton's  family  to  the 


rfi 


JTT       ' 


i\ 


:vM 


N K\V-KN( ;L AN  1 )    LK( iKX DS. 


brink  of  despair.  Tins  lu'idutn  had  in  iad  tcild  Walton  thai 
ho  shoidd  never  peacel'ully  enjoy  tiu^  land  he  had  wrested  I'roni 
lier. 

One  still  Sabbath  luyht  in  .June  all  at  vnvi'  a  shower  ut"  stones 
rattluil  against  the  siiles  and  roof  of  Walton's  house.  It  canio 
as  hercely  and  as  unexpectedly  as  a  sunnuer  hailstorm.  As 
soon  as  it  had  ceased,  the  startled  inmates,  who  were  in  bed, 
hurried  on  their  clothes  ami  sallied  out  to  sec  if  they  could 
discover  the  perpetrators  of  this  outrage  ui)on  tiie  pcat;e  an<l  (|uiet 
of  the  family.  It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  a  bright  mooidight 
night.  Tlicy  found  the  gate  taken  oif  the  hinges  and  carried 
to  a  distance  from  the  house,  but  ct)uld  neither  see  nor  hear 
anything  of  the  .stone-throwers. 

While  thus  engaged,  a  scconil  volley  of  stones  whistled  about 
their  heads,  which  drove  them,  nnich  terrilied  by  its  suilden- 
ness  and  fury,  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  house.  They  lirst 
went  into  the  porch  ;  but  the  stones  reaching  them  here,  they 
were  (piickly  j)elted  out  of  this  into  an  inner  cliamber,  "where, 
having  bolted  and  Ijarred  all  the  doors,  they  awaited  in  no  calm 
frami'  of  mind  the  next  demonstration  of  their  assailants.  Some 
had  been  struck  and  hurt,  and  all  were  in  consternation.  I!ut 
to  the  ilismay  of  these  poor  peoi)lo,  this  proved  no  secure  refuge  : 
for  the  stone  battery  opened  again  presently,  filling  the  room 
itself  with  ilyiug  missiles,  which  crashed  through  the  casements, 
scattering  the  glass  in  every  direction,  came  down  the  chimnej-, 
l)ountling  and  reliounding  along  tlie  floor  like  spent  cannon- 
balls,  -while  the  inmates  looked  (Ui  in  hel])less  amazement  at 
what  threatened  to  demolish  the  house  over  their  heads.  This 
bombardment  continued,  witli  occasional  intermission,  for  four 
hours. 

While  it  was  going  on,  Walton  was  talking  tlu;  floor  of  his 
chamber  in  great  disorder  of  mind,  when  a  sledge-hammer  cast 
with  vimlictive  force  thumjicd  heavily  idong  the  floor  overhead, 
and,  narrowly  missing  him,  fell  at  his  feet,  ".laking  a  great  dent 
in  the  oaken  floor;  at  the  same  time  the  caudles  were  swept  off 
the  table,  leaving  him  in  total  darkness. 


THE    STONK-TlIIiOWIXd    DKVIL. 


All  this,  it  is  tnie,  might  liave  been  the  Avork  of  evil-minded 
j)ersons  ;  but  certain  tilings  liardly  consistent  with  tliis  theory 
convinced  the  I'amily  beyond  any  reasonable  doubt  that  the 
stones  which  bruised  and  terrilied  tlieni  were;  luirlid  l)y  demon 
hands.  In  the  iirst  place,  some  ol'  the  stones  wiiieti  were  picked 
up  were  found  to  lie  hot,  as  if  they  had  just  been  taken  out  of 
tlie  lire.  In  tiie  secoiul,  notwithstanding  several  of  them  ww*; 
marked,  counti'd,  and  laid  ui)on  a  table,  these  sanu^  stones 
Would  afterward  be  found  Hying  around  the  room  again  as  soon 
as  the  person's  liack  was  turnetl  who  had  put  tliem  tiiere.  In 
the  tliird,  n\)un  examination,  the  leaden  cross-ljars  of  tlie  case- 
nu'uts  were  found  to  bo  bent  outwardly,  and  not  inwardly, 
showing  conclusively  that  the  stones  came  from  within,  and  not 
from  without.  Finally,  to  settle  the  matter,  some  of  the  maidens 
belonging  to  the  household  were  frightened  out  of  tlieir  wits 
ujion  seeing  a  hand  thrust  out  of  a  window,  or  the  apparition  of 
a  hand,  —  there  l)eing,  to  their  certain  knowledgi;,  no  one;  in  the 
room  where  it  cami'  from. 

This  was  not  aU.  After  Walton  had  gone  to  l)ed,  though 
not  to  sleep,  a  heavy  stone  came  crashing  through  his  chamljer- 
door.  He  got  u[i,  secured  the  unwelcome  intruder,  and  locked 
it  in  his  own  chamber ;  but  it  was  taken  out  by  invisible  liands, 
and  carried  with  a  great  noise  into  the  next  room.  This  was 
followed  by  a  brickbat.  The  sj)it  Hew  up  the  chimney,  and 
came  down  again,  without  any  visil)Ie  agency.  This  carnival 
continued  from  day  to  day  with  an  occasional  respite.  Wher- 
ever the  master  of  the  house  showed  himself,  in  tlie  l)arn,  the 
field,  or  elsewhere,  by  day  or  by  night,  he  was  sure  to  receive 
a  volley.  No  one  who  witnessed  them  doubted  Ibr  a  moment 
that  all  these  acts  proceeded  from  the  malevolence  of  the  afoni- 
said  witch ;  and  an  attempt  was  accordingly  made  to  brew  a 
powerful  witch-broth  in  the  house,  to  exorcise  her.  IJut  for 
some  reason  or  other  its  charm  failed  to  Avork  ;  and  so  the  spell 
remained  hanging  over  the  afflicted  family. 

Some  of  the  pranks  of  the  demon  ([uite  outdo  the  feats  of 
IIarle([uin  iu  the  Christmas  pantomimes.     "Walton  had  a  guest 


I<  *■ 

i 


:  i[  i 


(     i 


^,i. 


336 


N H\V-1:N( il- AND    Li:( iKX I )8. 


staying  with  him,  whu  beciiuic  the  raithfiil  reconlor  of  wliat 
liapjuMied  wiiile  tlic  .stiu'iu  nf  stoiii'.s  ruiiird  down  upon  the 
doomed  dwelling.  Jn  order  to  sooUk;  and  traH(iuillize  his  mind, 
he  took  up  a  nuisical  instrument  and  began  to  play;  when  "a 
good  big  stone"  rolled  in  to  join  in  tlie  danee,  while  the  player 
looked  on  in  amazement.  Among  other  tricLs  performed  ])y 
the  misehievous  demon  who  had  taken  up  its  unwelcome  icsi 
dence  among  tiie  family,  was  tiiat  of  taking  a  ehee.se  from  the 
pre.ss  and  cruml)ling  it  over  the  iloor ;  then  the  iron  u.seil  in 
the  press  was  tbiind  driven  into  the  wall,  and  a  kettle  hung 
u{)on  it.  Several  eoeks  of  hay  that  had  been  mowed  near  the 
house  were  adroitly  hung  upon  trees  nearby;  whihj  the  mis- 
chievous goblin,  twi.sting  bunches  of  hay  inti)  wisps,  .stuck  them 
up  all  about  the  Ikjusc  kitchen,  —  "cum  multis  aliis." 

The  relater  of  all  th(>se  unaccountable  doings  indeed  admits 
that  certain  sceptical  persons  persisted  in  believing  that  any  or 
all  of  them  might  have  been  the  work  of  human  l)eings ;  but  as 
every  one  credits  what  he  wishes  to  credit,  so  this  ancient  writer 
appears  to  nusntion  tlie  lact  only  with  the  view  of  exposing  its 
absurdity.  Our  own  purpose  i.s,  not  to  decide  between  two 
opinions,  but  to  declare  that  people  in  general  considered  (Jeorgo 
"Walton  to  be  a  victim  of  suix'rnatural  visitation,  or,  in  other 
words,  bewitched  ;  and  to  show  that  the  tiMiiper  of  his  day  was 
such,  that  any  occurrence  out  of  the  common  was  sure  to  be 
considered  according  to  its  character,  either  as  emanating  from 
lieav(;n  or  from  the  bottondess  pit.  There  were  no  such  things 
as  accidents  ;  everything  had  some  design. 


LADY    WKNTWOKTU. 


337 


LADY     WENTWORTH. 


A   KOMAN'CK  OF   REAL   LIFi;. 


r^  OVERNOR  RENNING  WENTWORTH,  a  luan  of  '« lara- 
VX  ily,"  in  the  language  of  liia  day,  the  owner  <if  largo  estates 
toil,  and  likewise  endowed  with  a  sufficiently  exaltecl  idea  of  his 
own  inijwrtance,  social,  political,  and  liereilitary,  had  nevertheless 
matrimonial  idiosyncrasies  wholly  at  odds  with  the  traditions 
and  the  susceptibilities  of  his  class.  We  do  not  clearly  know 
wli(;tlier  he  was  really  sujierior  to  their  demands,  or  altogether 
indill'erent  upon  tlii'  subject;  but  we  do  know  that  had  he  Ikhmi 
oth.er  than  he  was,  there  would  have  been  no  groundwork  for 
our  story. 

This  royal  (Jovernor  livcnl  in  his  line  mansion  at  Little  Har- 
bor, which,  out  of  deference,  probably,  to  his  Excellency's  con- 
venience, to  say  nnthing  of  his  dinners,  became  also  a  sort  of 
official  residence,  wIkuv  Ik;  receivetl  visits  of  ceremony,  punctu- 
ally drank  the  King's  health,  and  presided  over  the  sittings  of 
his  ^Majesty's  (,"ouucil  for  the  province.  All  this,  it  may  be 
assumed,  added  a  gooil  deal  to  his  sense  of  personal  dignity,  and 
Mdt  a  little  to  his  vanity,  besides  exerting  a  certain  influence 
upon  provincial  jidlitics,  by  estahlishing  a  coterie,  of  whi(;h  he 
was  the  head,  Avith  its  hoaihpiarters  under  his  own  roof  —  And 
this  roof,  by  the  M'ay,  might  tell  a  good  many  queer  stories, 
lint  we  have  no  time  to  dwell  upon  these  phases  of  the  mixcnl 
political  and  social  life  of  Governor  W(!ntw(M-th's  day.  The  old 
fellow  liked  display.  H(!  had  his  jiersonal  guard,  he  had  his 
stud,  and  it  was  his  ambition  to  have  the  best  wiiuvcellar  of 
any  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  in  the  province  ;  therefore  his 
per.sonal  .surroundings  did  no  discredit  to  the  commission  with 
which  his  sovereign's  favor  had  honored  him.  His  house  con- 
tained half  a  hundred  a))artments,  all  of  which  were  probably 

22 


r 


rr- 


!    I 


i; 


;i  !■ 


!i 


338 


N K\V-EN( !L A Nl)    L K(  1  EN DS. 


in  uso  when  tlit;  lI()ni)nvl)lo  ("oiiucil  nu't,  at  tlii)  Governor's  bid- 
ding, to  nialco  u  levy  of  troops  for  Louishurj,'.  or  ujjou  other 
luattcM'.s  of  puhlic  concern.  JJufsini'ss  heing  over,  the  company 
repaired  to  the  hilliard-rooni  or  th(!  card-room?!,  to  tlie  stables  or 
to  the  river,  ibr  relaxation,  —  the  oldsters  to  kill  time,  tlic  young- 
sters to  kill  the  ladies. 

It  was  a  pleasant  mansion,  mi  al)o(lc 

Near  and  yet  hidilen  Irom  tin,'  great  high-road, 

SiMpiestcreil  among  trees,  a  nol)le  i)ile. 

Baronial  ami  lolonial  in  its  style; 

(jial)li's  and  <loi'mcr-\viii(io\vs  everywhere. 

And  stacks  of  ciiiiiiiicys  lisiiig  high  in  air. 

Witiiin,  1.        iiteil  splendors  met  the  eye, 
I'aiiels,  and  lloors  (jf  oaii,  and  tajiestry  ; 
Carved  cliinuiey-pieces,  where?  on  brazen  dogs 
Revelled  and  roared  the  (Christmas  fires  of  logs. 

Ihit  this  brave  establishment  lackeil  one  thing  to  render  it 
comi)lete,  —  it  needed  a  nustress.  The  (jiovernor  had  been  left 
widowed  and  childless  in  his  old  age  to  sustain  the  cures  of 
oilicc  and  the  management  of  his  extensive  household  alone. 
He  deternuneil  U>  marry  again. 

'J'lii!  world,  had  it  been  consulted  in  the  matter,  might  have 
imposed  upon  him  a  bride  of  mature  years  and  experience ; 
abov(!  all,  one  taken  from  his  own  rank,  or  at  least  having  a 
])edigree.  But  the  Governor  was  not  yet  too  old  to  be  insen- 
sible to  the,  charms  of  youth  and  beauty  ;  and  ho  proceeded  to 
snap  bis  fat  lingers  in  the  foce  of  society  by  i)roposing  marriage 
to  a  ytniiig  woman  of  the  town  of  Portsmouth,  who  possessed  all 
the  personal  graces  that  were  re(]uisito  in  bis  (;yes  to  make  her 
Lady  Wontworth.  The  lady,  however,  saw  nothing  but  a  gouty 
old  man,  —  who  might,  it  was  true,  soon  leave  her  a  widow  ;  but 
this  was  not  the  life  that  she  lo(d\ed  forward  to.  She  having 
moreover  formed  another  attachment  in  her  own  sphere  of  life, 
rejected  the  Governor,  for  whom  she  cared  not  a  button,  in 
favor  of  a  yo\nig  mechaidc  whom  she  dearly  loved.     This  double 


LADY    WKNTWOUTII. 


339 


wound  to  his  love  uiul  viinity  tlio  old  Governor  determined 
signally  to  iivenye ;  ;uid  to  this  end  lie  wiekeilly  ciuised  tlic 
hriJegrooni  to  ho  kiiliiii[)ped  hy  ii  press-giing  and  carried  oU" 
to  sea. 

TIio  Governor's  second  matrimonial  venture  was  more  fortu- 
nate. This  time  his  eyes  I'ell  upon  Martha  Jlilton,  a  saucy,  red- 
lippeil  gyi)sy  tif  the  town,  who  is  hrsl  introducetl  to  us  wliilo 
she  is  carrying  a  pail  of  water  —  prohably  fresh-drawn  from  the 
town  |)Uinp  yonder  —  along  the  street.  Her  feet  are  bare,  her 
dress  scarcely  covers  her  decently  ;  yet  for  all  tiiat  she  belongs 
to  one  of  tilt!  oldest  families  in  tiie  i)rovince.  liut  she  is  charm- 
ing, even  in  tliese  mean  liabiliments. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture,  full  of  grace,  — 
The  slender  form,  the  delicate,  thin  lace  ; 
The  swaying  motion,  as  she  hurried  by  ; 
The  shining  feet,  the  laughter  in  her  eye. 

The  sight  of  tlie  girl  in  this  plight  so  incenses  the  sharp- 
tongued  landlady  of  the  Earl  of  Halifax  inn,  that  she  exclaims 
from  her  doorway,  "  You  I'at !  you  Pat  I  how  ilare  you  go  look- 
ing so  I    You  ought  to  be  asliamed  to  be  seen  in  the  street  !  " 

The  warm  blood  comes  into  the  maiden's  cheeks  at  this  sharp 
reproof.  She  gives  her  head  a  toss,  and  haughtily  says  :  "  No 
matter  how  I  look,  I  shall  ride  in  my  chariot  yet,  ma'am  ! "  and 
passes  on,  leaving  Mistress  Stavers  nailed  to  her  doorstep  at 
such  unheard  of  presumption  in  a  half-dressed  slip  of  a  girl, 
who  is  carrying  water  through  the  public  street.  Ride  in  her 
chariot,  indeed ! 

Like  Cinderella,  Martha  Hilton  next  makes  her  appearance  in 
the  kitchen  of  the  (i')vernor's  mansion  at  Little  Harbor.  Ihit 
she  is  not  to  stay  here.  One  day  tlic  (iovernor  gives  a  splendid 
banquet.     The  company  is  assembled,  — 

He  had  invited  all  his  friends  and  jieers, — 
The  Pepperels,  the  Langdons,  and  tiie  Lears, 
The  Sparliawks,  the  Penhallows,  and  the  rest  ; 
For  why  repeat  tlie  name  of  every  guest  ? 


m  '  ■'• 


fmm 


lii 


m 


'.-f/^ 


J    SIIAU.    KlDi;    IN    MY    (  1IAHIOT    YET,    Ma'AM." 


LADY    WKNTWOUTH. 


341 


aTid  among  tho  rod  coats  of  tlio  quality  is  tho  black  ono  of  tho 
Ucvei'c'iul  Arthur  IJruwu,  rector  of  the  Kpiscopal  church,  — 

Willi  siiiiiin^'  face 
He  sat  beside  tlif  (J   viTiiur  and  said  grace. 

The  dinner  is  served;  the  wine  cireidates  freely  round  tho 
board;  antl  tho  yuests,  having  dined  well,  liavo  reached  the  mo- 
ment of  supromc,  content  following,  avIkmi  the  Clovernor  whis- 
pers something  to  a  servant,  who  bows  and  goes  out.  Presently 
there  is  a  little  bustle  at  the  door,  and  then  Martha  Hilton, 
blushing  like  lire,  walks  into  the  room  and  takes  her  stand  in 
front  of  tho  lireplace. 

Can  this  be  Maitlia  Ilihnn  >     It  nnist  be  ! 
Yes,  Martha  HiUon,  ami  nn  otiierslie! 
Dowered  witli  tiie  lieauty  of  lier  twenty  years, 
How  ladylike,  how  (lUecuHke,  she  appears! 

She  is  now  richly  dressed  ;  and  would  hardly  ])e  recognized  as  tho 
same  person  whom  wo  saw  in  the  street  not  long  ago.  Conversa- 
tion ceases  ;  all  tho  guests  look  up  to  aihnire  tho  beautiful  woman. 

The  Governor  rises  from  his  chair,  goes  over  to  where  ]Martha 
is  struggling  to  maintain  her  self-possession,  and  then,  address- 
ing himself  to  the  clergyman,  while  all  the  guests  stare,  lie  says  ; 
"Mr.  Brown,  I  wish  you  to  marry  me." 

"To  whom  1  "   asks  the  bewildered  rector. 

"To  this  lady,"  replies  the  CJovernor,  taking  Martha's  hand  in 
his. 

As  tho  dumfoundod  rector  remained  speechless,  tho  irascible 
old  Governor  became  imperative. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "as  tho  Governor  of  his  Majesty's  province  of 
Now  Hampshire,  I  command  you  to  mr.rry  me." 

The  ceremony  was  then  performed  ;  the  maiden  of  twenty 
became  tho  bride  of  tho  gouty  old  man  of  sixty ;  and  thus  her 
saucy  answer  came  true. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  poem,  founded  upon  this  romance  of  real 
life,  is  also 

A  pretty  picture,  full  of  grace,  — 


M  ' 


342 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


ill  wliich  tlio  social  (li.stinctiuiis  of  Govcmur  Wcntworth's  day 
aro  (Miipluisizod,  in  order  to  show  liow  easily  Lovo  laughs  at  thcsin 
and  at  all  those  safeguards  beliiiid  which  society  intrenches  itself 
against  a  njisalliance.  liut  here  a  maiden  of  twenty  marries  a 
man  old  enough  to  bo  her  grandfather.  Is  it  for  love]  Ho 
marries  his  lovely  dependant  because  ho  is  bmesomc. 


li 


!     1 


Part  |)intf). 


YORK,    ISLES-OF-SIIOALS,    AND     BOON- 
ISLAND    LECiENDS. 


I   '  i 


I 


\* 


t 

1. 

{ 

1 

1 

i-      i 

!              i 

''       i 

t                  1 

:■ 

1 

1 

t    . 

iW 

(^^ 

ISLES-OF-SHOALS  LEGENDS. 


TIIKEE  leagu'js  ull'  tlie  couat  of  New  Hainpshiro,  huddled 
tugetiicr  in  a  group,  the  Isles  (jf  Shoals  rise  out  of  the 
gray  line  of  old  ocean  like  mountain  peaks  above  a  cloud; 
and,  as  if  disinherited  by  Nature,  nothing  grows  upon  them 
except  a  little  grass,  a  few  hardy  shrul)s,  and  the  yellow  lichens 
that  spot  the  gaunt  rocks  like  the  scales  of  a  leper.  One  soli- 
tary lightliouse  lifts  its  warning  finger  upon  the  outermost  rocJc, 
but,  like  a  monument  to  the  many  wreidvs  that  have  happened 
there,  this  only  signals  a  rock  of  danger,  and  not  a  haven  of 
saf(!ty  for  distressed  mariners. 

Treeless,  unblessed  l)y  tlie  evidences  of  cultivation  or  tlirift, 
with  no  other  sound  tlian  tliat  of  the  sea  ])reaking  heavily 
against  them,  and  ui>  other  sign  of  lil'e  than  tlie  surf  whitening 
their  sides  of  granite  and  flint,  a  nioi'e  lonidy  scene  (;an  hardly 
be  imagined.  Upon  landing  and  looking  about  him  in  silent 
wonder,  one  is  more  and  more  impressed  with  tlie  idea  that 
the  sea  has  bared  these  iinperisluil)le  rocks  by  its  subsidence, 
and  that  he  is  standing  on  tlu;  summit  of  a  submerged  moun- 
tain, emerging  from  the  ocean  like  oiu!  risen  f.-om  tlic  dead. 

A  lieap  ol"  bare  and  splintiTy  crags 
Tumbled  aliout  liy  lightning  and  frost, 

Witli  rifts  and  cliasms  and  storni-beat  jag-i 
Tliat  wait  and  ;.^rowi  for  a  slnp  to  be  lost  ; 

No  island,  but  rather  (lie  skeleton 

Of  a  wrecked  and  vcni-'caiKui-smitten  one. 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Away  northeast  is  P;)on-Islaii(l  Light  ; 

Yuii  iiii,L;lit  iiiistaki'  it  lor  a  ship, 
Only  it  stands  loo  jihimli  up^iylit, 

And,  lilie  the;  others,  (hnss  not  slip 
Behind  th(!  sea's  unsteady  l>rink. 

On  the  mainland  you  see  a  misty  camp 
Of  mountains  pitched  tumultuously  : 

Tiiat  one  hiomin''  so  lon;f  and  lar/e 

Is  Saddleliack  ;    and  that  point  you  see 

Over  yon  h)\v  and  rounded  marge;. 

Like  th(!  boss  of  a  sleeping  giant's  targe 
Laid  over  his  lieart,  is  Ossipiie: 

That  shadow  thei'e  may  be  Kearsarge. 

There  can  be  little  room  for  doubt  that  these  islands  were, 
from  a  very  early  time,  the  resort  of  oecasioiial  fishing  siiips,  as 
they  subseniiently  became  the  haunt  of  smugglers  and  outlaws, 
—  I  mean  pirates.  The  cluster  enclosed  a  tolerable  harbor,  were 
uniidiabited,  were  convenient  to  the;  iishing-grounds,  and  tliey 
alforded  excellent  facilities  for  curing  lish.  In  later  times  their 
isolated  position  rendered  them  a  secure  refuge  for  the  lawless 
rovers  who  infested  our  coasts,  and  "•)<')  could  snap  tlunr  lingers 
at  the  Colonial  authorities  while  refitting  their  ships,  disposing 
of  their  ill-gotten  booty,  or  in<lulging  in  their  habitual  carousals 
on  shore.  From  these  conditions  came  at  length  a  pnny  settle- 
ment, eepially  without  law,  morals,  or  religion.  Su(!h  was  its 
r(>putation,  that  a  Colonial  order  prohibited  women  from  living 
on  any  one  of  the  islands. 

A  legend  is  of  course  associated  with  the  record  declaring 
these  islands  to  have  been  the  resort  of  freebooters.  Kidd  is 
supposed  to  have  buried  immense  treasure  here  ;  and  as  if  to  con- 
firm the  story,  the  ghost  of  one  of  his  men,  who  was  slain  for 
its  protection,  was  always  firmly  believed  by  tlie  lishermen  to 
haunt  Ai)pledore.  At  one  time  nothing  would  have  induced 
th(!  inhabitant  of  anotlier  island  to  land  upon  this  after  night- 
fall, although  there  was  much  search  made  for  the  treasure  that 
the  spectre  was  supposed  to  guard.     One  i,slander,  indeed,  had 


ISLES-OF-SIIOALS    LEGENDS. 


347 


really  encountered  the  grisly  shade  while;  making  its  solitary 
round,  and  he  described  it  us  shedding  a  dindy  luminous  and 
uneartidy  appearance,  like  that  of  a  glow-wcjrni,  as  it  walked, 
and  as  having  a  face  pale  and  very  dreadful  to  look  upon. 

For  a  time,  v»diilo  the  fishery  flourished,  the  islands  enjoyed  a 
kind  of  prosperity  ;  but  tiiose  clcrgyni<Mi  who,  like  tlie  llevcrcnd 
John  Tucke,  went  into  a  voluntary  exile  here,  to  become  Ushers 
of  men,  might  truly  be  said  to  have  cast  their  lines  in  stmiy 
places.  Yet  with  unabated  zeal  the  good  Father  Tucke  perse- 
vered in  the  ed'ort  to  reform  the  morals  of  his  charge,  to  watch 
over  their  spiritual  welfare,  and  to  biing  them  into  something 
like  accord  witli  the  idea  of  a  civili/ed  community,  until  they 
carried  him  from  the  little  church  on  the  ledge  down  into  the 
hollow,  and  there  laid  him  away  to  his  rest. 

Sometimes  the  nnnister  woukl  see  his  entire  congregation  rush 
out  of  the  meetingdiouso  in  the  nuddle  of  the  .sermon  because, 
it  being  a  good  lookout,  some  of  the  men  had  cauglit  sigiit  of  a 
school  of  mackerel  in  the  offing.  Sometimes,  when  to  make  his 
image  more  iuipressively  real  he  used  sea  terms  to  de.scrilie  the 
condition  of  the  unregenerate  siiniers  before  him,  ami  put  the 
question  bluntly,  "  Wiiat,  my  friends,  would  y^u  do  in  such  a 
case?"  some  rough  .sea-dog  would  retort,  "  S(|uaro  away  ami  scud 
for  Squatn  !  "  —  that  being  their  customary  refuge  when  over- 
taken at  sea  by  a  northeaster.  Doth  Mather  and  Hubbard 
give  numerous  instanc(!s  of  the  "memorable  providences"  over- 
taking these  dissolute  and  godle.ss  lislicrmen  in  the  midst  of 
their  carousals.  Let  us  now  give  one  illustrating  the  efficacy 
of  prayer. 

In  his  "  Magnalia  Christi"  Mather  relates  this  incident :  —  A 
child  of  one  Arnold  lay  sick, — so  nearly  dead  that  it  was  judged 
to  be  really  dead.  ^Ir.  Brock  (the  minister),  perceiving  some 
life  in  it,  goes  to  prayer ;  and  in  his  ))rayer  was  this  expression  : 
"  Lord,  wilt  thou  not  grant  some  sign,  before  we  leave  prayer, 
that  tiiou  wilt  .spare  and  heal  this  child  1  We  cannot  leave 
thee  till  we  have  it."     The  child  sneezed  immediately. 

On  account  of  the  isolation  which  left  them  to  the  mercy  of 


r'^' 


^M 


ill  I 


348 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


tho  enemy's  cniisoi-s,  tlio  islands  were  nearly  dei)oimlato(l  during 
the  time  of  the  Rev  tion.  After  this  the  few  inhabitants  who 
remained  lived  in  a  ([(jplorable  conditiun  uf  ignorance  and  vici,'. 
.Some  of  them  lost  their  ages  for  want  of  a  record.  The  town 
organization  was  abandoned,  and  tlie  settlement  at  8tar  Island 
relajjsed  into  its  old  half-barbarous  way  of  life.  Men  and  women 
lived  openly  together  without  the  form  of  marriage.  Finally  some 
of  the  more  depraved  pulled  down  ami  burnetl  the  old  meeting- 
house, which  had  so  Ktng  l)een  a  prominent  landmark  for  seamen; 
and  the  parsonage  might  have  sliared  a  similar  fate,  had  it  not, 
like  the  ark,  been  launched  and  iloated  over  to  the  mainlaml  out 
of  harm's  way. 

But  enough  of  this  rude  chroniide.  Emerging  from  the 
shadow  into  the  sun,  the  islands  became  in  time  noted  for  their 
healtlifulness  ;  and  presently,  when  the  light-keeper,  who  had 
hitherto  lived  here  like  a  hermit,  took  courage  and  established 
a  boarding-house  on  Ajtpledore,  they  drew  a  constantly  increas- 
ing number  of  visitors,  who  allirmed  tlu;  Isles  of  Shoals  to  bo 
the  most  idiosyncratic  watering-place  in  tin;  Union.  i-jinco 
then  they  have  been  celebrated  in  song  and  story.  Every 
nook  and  alcove  has  been  ransacked  to  procure  materials  for 
history,  legend,  or  romance  ;  ami  linally  little  or  nothing  except 
the  ancient  tombstones,  the  little  Uosport  church,  and  some  rude 
walls,  declare  the  pres(!nce  here  of  a  different  generation,  who 
were  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep,  and  avIio  now  slumber 
in  its  embrace. 

OX    STAR   ISLAND. 

SAKMI    O.    JEWETT. 

High  on  the  lichened  ledges,  like 

A  lonely  sea-fowl  on  its  ))ercli 
Blown  by   he  cold  sea-winds,  it  stands, 

Old  Gosport's  ([uaint  forsaken  church. 

No  sign  is  left  of  all  the  towTi 
Except  a  few  forgotten  graves  ; 


ON    STAR   ISLAND. 

But  to  and  fro  the  wliite  suils  go 
Slowly  across  the  j^'littciing  waves  ; 

And  summer  idlers  stray  about 
With  curious  (lueslions  of  the  lost 

And  vanished  village,  and  its  nuni, 

Whose  hoats  by  these  same  waves  were  tossed. 


Their  eyes  on  week-days  sought  the  church, — 
Their  siucst  landmark,  an<l  the  guide 

That  l(!d  them  in  from  far  at  sea, 
Until  they  anchored  safe  beside 


849 


The  harbor  wall  that  braved  the  storm 
With  its  resistless  strength  of  stone. 

Tiiose  busy  lishers  all  are  gone  : 
The  church  is  standing  here  alone. 

But  still  T  licar  their  voices  strange, 

And  still  1  sec  the  people  go 
Over  the  ledges  to  their  homes,  — 

Tlie  bent  old  women's  footsteps  slow; 

The  faithful  jiarson  stop  to  give 
Some  timely  word  to  one  astray; 

The  little  children  hurrying  on 
Together,  chattering  of  their  play. 

I  know  the  lilue  sea  covered  some; 

And  others  in  the  rocky  ground 
Found  narrow  lodgings  for  their  bones  — 

CJod  grant  their  rest  is  sweet  and  sound  ! 

I  saw  the  worn  rope  idle  hang 
Beside  me  in  the  belfry  brown  ;" 

I  gave  the  bell  a  soh'inn  toll  — 
T  ran"  the  knell  iof  (iosiiort  town. 


1^ 


350 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


A   LEGEND   OF   BLACKBEARD. 

ri^^IIK  various  legomls  rolativc,  to  tlio  corsairs,  and  tlio  sccret- 
_L  iii^' of  lliuir  ili-;4olteii  j^ains  anioii.ij;  tlicso  rocks,  woiilil  of 
tliciiisclves  occupy  a  long  cliapt.'r  ;  ami  the  recital  of  the 
fearful  sights  and  sounds  which  have  confronted  such  as  wcro 
hardy  enough  to  seek  for  liidden  treasure,  would  satisfy  the  most 
iuveterato  niarvelnniuger  in  the  land. 

Among  others  to  whom  it  is  said  these  islands  W(>re  known 
was  the  celel)rated  C'aiitain  Teach,  or  Jilackbeard,  as  he  was  often 
called.  Ho  is  supposed  to  have  Imried  imuuMise  treasure  here, 
some  of  whiidi  has  ])een  dug  u[)  and  appropriated  liy  th(^  is- 
lamlers.  On  one  of  his  cruises,  while  lying  olf  the  Scottish  coast 
waiting  for  a  rich  trader,  he  was  hoarded  hy  a  stranger,  who 
came  olf  in  a  small  boat  from  ihe  shore.  Tlie,  new-comer 
deniandeil  to  be  led  before  the  pirate  chitd',  in  whoso  cabin  ho 
remained  some  time  shut  up.  At  length  Teach  appeared  on 
deck  with  the  stranger,  whom  he  introduced  to  the  crew  as  a 
comrade.  The  vessel  they  were  expecting  soon  came  in  sight; 
and  after  a  bloody  oonllict  she  became  the  pi'izt.'  of  rdackbcard. 
It  was  determineil  by  the  corsair  to  man  and  arm  the  captured 
vessel.  The  uid^nown  had  fought  with  nndaunted  bravery  (hir- 
ing the  battle,  and  to  him  was  given  the  command  of  the  prize. 

The  stranger  Scot  was  not  long  in  gaining  the  bad  eminetu-e 
of  being  as  good  a  pirate  as  his  renowned  commander.  His 
crew  thought  him  invincible,  and  followed  wherever  ho  led. 
At  last,  after  his  appetite  for  wealth  had  been  satisfied  by  the 
rich  booty  of  the  Southern  seas,  he  arrived  on  the  coast  of  his 
native  land.  His  boat  was  manned,  and  landed  him  on  the 
beach  near  an  humble  dwelling,  whence  he  soon  returned,  bear- 
ing in  his  arms  the  lifeless  form  of  a  woman. 

The  pirate  ship  immediately  set  sail  for  America  ;  and  in  due 
time  dropped  her  anchor  in  the  road  of  the  Isles    of  Shoals. 


A   LEC.ENI)   OK    liLACKllKAUl), 


351 


Kero  tlio  crow  jmssod  tlioir  tiiiit!  in  sccrotiiiL,'  their  riclios  and  in 
carousal.     Thu  coiuniuiuloi's  porliun    was   buriiid  on  an  island 


CAPTAIN    TEACir,    OR    ELACKniiARD. 


apart  from  tho  rost.  He  roamed  over  the  isles  with  his  beautiful 
companion,  forgetful,  it  would  seem,  of  his  fearful  trade,  until 
one  morning  a  sail  was  discovered  standing;  in  for  the  islands. 


■ri 


7 


352 


new-enc;lani)  ijxjknds. 


Iff 


I 


I     I 


All  was  now  adivily  "H  Imanl  llio  pimtc  ;  Imt  Ixiforo  ^'otting 
uiKlin'  way  tli(!  outlaw  caiTiL'd  the  iiiaidcii  to  the  island  wliore  lie 
had  l)iiricd  liis  trcasiiic,  and  then  niadn  her  take  a  fearful  oath 
to  };uai'd  the,  spot  IVoin  mortals  until  his  rctiiiii,  were  it  till 
Doomsday.     He  then  put  to  sea. 

The  stran^'e  sail  proved  to  Ix' a  warlike  vessel  in  search  of  the 
frcehootcr.  A  lon^^  and  d^'spcrate  battle  (Misuod,  in  whi(di  ihe 
King's  cruiser  at  last  silenced  her  adversary's  guns.  The  vessels 
were  grapj)le(l  for  a  last  struggle,  when  a  terrihc  (explosion 
strewed  tin;  sea  with  the  fragments  of  hoth.  Stung  to  madness 
by  defeat,  and  knowing  that  if  taken  alive  the  gibbet  awaited 
liim,  (he  rover  had  linnl  the  magazine,  involvuig  friend  and  foe 
in  a  common  fate. 

A  few  mangled  wretches  succeeded  in  reaching  tlie  islands, 
only  to  ])erisli  niiseral)ly,  one  by  one,  iVum  cold  and  hunger. 
Tlio  pirate's  mistress  remained  tru(^  to  her  oath  to  the  last,  or 
until  she  also  succumbed  to  want  and  exjiosure.  J>y  re])ort,  she 
has  been  seen  more  than  once  on  White  Islan<l,  —  a  tall,  shajH'ly 
figure,  wrappf^l  in  a  long  sea-cloak,  her  head  and  ni'ck  uncovered 
excejjt  by  a  profusion  of  golden  hair.  Her  face  is  described  as 
excpiisitely  rounded,  l)ut  pale  and  still  as  marble.  She  takes  her 
stand  on  the  verge  of  a  low  projecting  point,  ga/ing  h.xedly  out 
upon  the  ocean  in  an  altitude  of  intense  expectation.  A  former 
race  of  fishermen  avouched  that  her  ghost  was  doomed  to  haunt 
tho.se  rocks  until  the  last  trumj)  shall  sound,  and  that  the  ancient 
graves  to  be  found  on  the  islands  were  tenanted  by  Blackbeard's 
men. 


THE    SPANISH    WRECK. 


WO  betide  any  ship  that  was  driven  among  these  islands 
before  the  lighthouse  warned  the  mariner  how  to  steer 
clear  of  them  I  Engulfed  in  ])itch  darkness,  the  doomed  vessel 
bore  staadily  down  upon  an  unseen  danger,  whose  first  warning 


THE    SPANISH    AVlll'CK. 


353 


was  thu  shock  tliat  snai.i.cl  hw  masts  asiuuler  liko  dry  t\vi-.s,  and 
tliat  fnisiied  in  her  stunt  lUnhw^  liko  ly-sliclls.  Tin;  waves 
and  tho  r,),.-ks  tlicii  linidi.-d  their  wurk  of  (h'stniction.  Such  a 
sconu  of  hum.i',  with  its  dismal  .sc.iucl  of  .surrenii-  i.nd  deatii, 
••iiaftiii-  whih.  the  islanders  lay  last  asleep  in  their  beds,  is  that 
of  the  nnliuijwn  Spjinish  wreck. 

This  wreck  took  place  .m  SiMulty-Xoso  Island  in  Jaiuiary, 
181.'],  acconlin-  to  th.;  (Josport  records,  which  <^\\c  the  ill-fated 
vessel's  name  as  the  "  Sa-imto."  Fourteen  rude  -raves  count 
the  nuni])er  ..f  Iiodies  that  wen-  recovered,  and  huried  in  a  little 
plot  to-ether.  "There  is  no  inscription  on  the  rude  Ijowlders 
at  the  hea.l  and  fo(;t  of  these  graves.  A  few  nuav.  y.ars,  and  all 
trace  of  them  will  be  olditerated." 

Althou-li  the  .ship  '•  Sa-unto"  was  not  stranded  here,  as  tho 
record  incorrectly  .states,  tho  wreck  of  a  laryo  vessel  either  Spani.sh 
or  Portuguese,  with  every  .soul  on  board,  remains  a  terrible  fact, 
only  too  well  attested  by  theses  graves.  The  "Sagunto,"  it  is 
known,  after  a  stormy  voyage,  made  her  port  in  .safety.  J]ut  tho 
horror  of  the  event  is  d.^epened  by  tiiat  Word  "  unknown."  Tho 
uame  of  the  ship,  who  were  her  cai)tain  and  cr.nv,  are  all  SM'al- 
lowod  up  at  the  same  instant  of  time. 

It  was  in  the  height  of  a  blinding  snow-storm  and  a  gale  that 
strewed  the  coast  from  Ilatteras  to  the  Penobscot  witlf  wrecks, 
that  a  ship  built  of  cedar  and  mahogany  was  thrown  upon  those 
rocks.  Xot  a  living  soul  was  left  to  tell  tho  tale  of  that  bitter 
Jaiu.ary  night.  The  ill-fated  craft  was  richly  laden,  for  boxes 
of  raisins  and  almonds  from  Malaga  drifted  on  shore  the  iie.xt 
morning.  Xo  clew  to  the  ship  or  crew  was  found,  except  a 
silver  watch,  with  tho  letters  '■  ".  S."  engraved  upon  the  seals, 
and  some  letters  which  came  oi,  diore  with  the  wreckage.  Tho 
watch  had  stopped  at  exactly  f.-ur  o'clock,  while  those  on  the 
island  ticked  on. 

One  account  says  that  part  of  the  crew  wore  thrown  upon  tho 
rocks  more  dead  than  alive,  and  that,  seeing  a  light  shining 
through  tho  storm,  some  of  them  crawled  toward  it ;  but  they 
were  too  for  spent  to  rea.di  tho  kindly  shelter  it  announced. 

23 


s^ 


3o4 


ni:\v-i:n(;lani)  uitiKNDs. 


"  The  roaring  of  tho,  storm  Ixin;  iiwa^'  their  faint  (jriea  of  distreHS  ; 
tlir  old  inaii  .sl('iptoii  (luictly,  witli  liis  family  about  liim,  —  sliol- 
tfircd,  saft',  -  while,  a  slnnc's  throw  fnnii  his  ddcir,  these,  sailors 
striiV(^  to  reat:h  that  iViendly  li;-;hl.  Two  of  them  gaiiiecl  tho 
stone  wall  in  front  of  the  house  ;  hut  their  e.hhiny  stieiiyth  would 
not  allow  them  to  dindi  over.''  Their  stilfeiied  liodies,  half 
buried  iu  tlio  ful'ing  snow,  wnv  found  hanj^in;^  ovijr  it  in  the 
morning. 

This  is  the.  story  of  this  little  chimii  of  j^'ravos,  iind  of  tlu; 
wreck  that  is  to  tiiis  day  unknown.  .Mrs.  (.'elia 'J'haxter  tells 
it  in  verse  with  mindi  feeling;  for  to  her  sueh  scenus  are  not 
unfamiliar,  nor  an;  the  (lani^ers  of  these  inliosi)itable  islea  things 
of  the  imagination. 

THE  SPANIARDS'  (JliAVES  AT  THE    ISLES  OF  SHOALS. 

CKLIA     rilAXTKU. 

O  bAii.ous,  di<I  sweet  cy(!s  luok  after  you. 

Tile  (lay  you  saiI(Ml  away  from  sunny  Spain  ?  — 
Bright  <'yes  that  lullowecl  fading  ship  anil  crew, 
Melting  in  tender  rain  '. 

Dill  III)  one  dream  ul'  that  drear  night  to  ho, 

Wild  with  llir  wind,  liei'ce  with  thi;  stinging  snow, 
When,  on  yon  granite  ]ii)int  that  (Vets  the  sea, 
The  sin'p  met  licr  deatli-hlnw  ( 

Fifty  long  years  ago  llie-e  sailors  died  : 

None  know  liow  many  sleep  l)eneatli  the  waves  ; 
Fourteen  gray  headstones,  rising  side  hy  side, 
Point  out  their  nameless  graves, — 

Lonely,  luiknown,  deserted,  but  for  nie 

And  the  wild  birds  that  (lit  witli  mournful  cry, 
And  sadder  winds,  and  voices  of  the  sea 
That  moans  pcr[)etually. 


tlli! 


UOON    fHLA.Vn. 

O  Spanisli  wonicn,  <>\ri  I  he  lar  sc!i.«, 

Could  1  l)iit,  mIiou  yii  wlific  VDiir  (load  ii[i(jhc! 
Could  I  send  tidiiins  ,,ii  this  iicilliciii  hrecze, 
'I'liat  Htioiiy  and  Mcady  IdoWH  ! 

Dear  daik-cycd  sislcis,  you  iciuciulu'r  yet 

TIii'sc!  you  have  lost  ;  lait,  you  (.'au  iw\{ti  know 
One  Klaud.s  at  llicir  l.lcak  -,'iavos  wliosc  eyes  luv  wet 
With  lIiiiikiiiL;  of  youi'  wo  I 


355 


BOON     ISLAND. 

j  nVKN  tlio  Islf's  (d'  Shoals  iiavc  llioir  (nitlyiii<r  picket.  The 
-1_J  solitary  j^ray  shaft  of  IJooii-lslaiid  Li-hthouso,  .shooting 
hi-h  u\)  out  (d  Ih.'  scii,  is  liy  day  a  conspicuous  object  uiiywhci'o 
h(awccn  Vnik  K'ivci  and  Cape  Ncddock  ;  and  liy  ni-jil,  its  li^lit 
i.s  a  star  shining  liri-hlly  amid  th(!  wastu  of  watcis.  Tiiis  island, 
with  its  outlyin;^  Icd-es,  long  ha<l  the  Avorst  reputation  among 
sailors  of  any  tiiat  endanger  tlie  navigation  of  our  eastern  (toasts  — 
until  the  erection  of  a  lightiiouse  here  in  1811,  upon  tiio  larger 
rock,  robbed  thi^  [Aiva'.  «{'  some  of  its  terrons.  Its  name  goes 
back  as  I'ar  as  Ki.'U),  thus  disposing  of  iUo,  local  traditions  asso- 
ciating it  with  tlie  wre(dv  of  the  "  Nottingham  (Jalley,'"  wliich 
oi'curred  )i(!arly  a  century  later. 

As  the  seas  in  great  storms  break  comphilidv  over  it.  tlriviii" 
the  inmates  to  the  upper  story  of  the  shaft,  one  is  lost  in  won- 
iler  to  think  that  this  barren  rock,  scarcely  elexatcsd  aboNc  the 
waves,  was  for  nearly  a  month,  and  in  the  heaii  of  winter,  the 
melancholy  nd'ugc  ni'  a  shipwrecked  crew,  whose  strength  daily 
wasted  away  while  they  wi'ie  in  full  sight  of  the  friendly  slioic 
they  could  not  reach. 

The  following  is  all  tliat  can  be  learned  concerning  the  inci- 
dent corameniurated  in  Mrs.  Thaxter's  verses:  "  T.ong  ago,  when 
lighthouses  were  not  so  well  mauned  as  now,  'two  bjvers,  lately 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


"-  IIIIM 

|50     "' 

.»    1132 


I.I 


(1. 


m 


IIM 

2.2 

12.0 

1.8 


Photograpbx 

Sciences 
Corporafon 


1.25 

1.4 

1.6 

^ 6"    — 

► 

^^ 


« 


:\ 


\ 


% 


V 


o^ 


% 


V 


'"'b^ 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


f^ 


r    ^ 


fV 


356 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


wed/  want  out  to  keep  the  liylit  on  thid  perilous  reef.  In  a 
groat  .storm  in  tiie  beginning  ol'  winter  the  huslKind  suddenly 
died;  and  the  bereaved  wile  kept  the  light  burning  three  nights, 
till  tlie  storm  lulled,  and  then  left  it  unkindled  as  a  signal  of 
distri-'ss.  There  was  no  human  creature  on  the  rock  cxee[)t 
thom.selves." 

THE  WATCH   OF   1500X   ISLAI^D. 

CELIA   THAXTEIl. 

They  crossed  tlic  lonely  and  lamenting  sea; 

Its  moaning  seemed  but.  singing.     "  Wilt  thou  dare," 
He  asked  her,  '•  brave  the  loneliness  with  me  V 

"What  h)neliuess,"  .she  said,  "  if  thou  arl  there  ?" 

Afar  and  cold  on  the  horizon's  rim 

Loomed  the  tall  li,L,'litliouse,  like  a  ghostly  sign  ; 

They  sighed  not  as  the  shore  behind  grew  dim, — 
A  rose  of  joy  they  bore  across  the  brine. 

They  gained  the  barren  rock,  and  made  their  home 
Among  the  wild  waves  and  the  sea-birds  wild. 

The  whitry  winds  blew  fierce  across  the  foam  ; 
But  in  each  other's  eyes  they  looked  and  smiled. 

Aloft  the  lighthouse  sent  its  warnings  wide, 
Fed  by  their  faithful  hands  ;  and  ships  in  sight 

With  joy  beheld  it ;  and  on  land  men  cried, 

"  Look,  clear  and  steady  burns  Boon  Island  Light!" 


Death  found  them  ;  turncul  his  face  and  passed  her  by, 

But  laid  a  nnij;er  on  her  lover's  lips  ; 
And  tliere  was  silence.     Then  the  storm  ran  high, 

And  tossed  and  troubled  sore  the  distant  ships. 

Nay,  who  shall  speak  the  terrors  of  the  night, 
The  speechless  sorrow,  the  supreme  despair? 

Still  like  a  f^liost  she  trimmed  the  M'aning  light, 
Dragging  her  slow  weight  up  the  winding  stair. 


I 


I 


THE   GRAVE    OF   CIIAMI'EUNOWXE. 

Three  times  the.  night,  too  tenilile  to  Ijeur, 
Descended,  shrouded  in  the  ^tonn.     At  lust 

The  sun  rose  clear  and  .still  on  her  despair, 
And  all  her  striving  to  the  winds  she  cast, 

And  l)o\ve<l  her  head,  and  let  tlie  light  die  out, 
For  tlu!  wide  sea  lay  calm  as  her  dead  love?. 

When  evening  iell,  from  the  far  land,  in  (hmbt, 
Vainly  to  lind  thai  lailhlu]  star  men  strove. 


357 


Out  from  the  coast  toward  her  high  tower  they  sailed; 

They  found  herwatching,  silent,  by  her  dead,  — 
A  shadowy  woman,  who  nor  wept  nor  wailed, 

But  answered  what  they  spake,  till  all  was  said. 


THE   GRAVE    OF  CHAMPERNOWNE. 


/~\^  Cerrish's  Island,  at  the  raoutli  of  the  Piscataqua  River, 
^^  there  is  a  rude  lieap  of  stones  niai'king,  according  to  tra- 
dition, the  last  resting-place  of  Francis  Cliaini)ernownp,  a  former 
owner  and  resident  of  this  island.  Tradition  further  .says  he 
forbid  tliat  any  monument  should  be  raised  to  bis  memory, 
although  lie  was  of  gentle  blood,  a  n(>plunv  of  the  foraous  Sir 
Ferdinando  Gorges,  and  a  man  of  much  personal  wortli  and  dis- 
tinction. (See  "  Nooks  and  Corners  of  the  New  England  Coast." 
p.  149,  and  notes.) 

Thomas  de  Cambernon  for  ilastings'  field 
Lett  Normandy  ;  his  tower  saw  him  no  more  ! 

And  no  crusader's  warhorse,  plumed  and  steeled. 
Paws  the  grass  now  at  .Alodbuiy's  Idazoned  door; 

No  lettered  marble  nor  ancestral  shield, — 
Where  all  the  Atlantic  shakes  the  lonesome     -ore, 

Lies  ours  f'irgotten  :  oidy  cobble-stones 

To  tell  U3  where  are  Cham])ernowne's  poor  bones. 

John  Elwyn. 


III 

I 


i 


358 


iM 


i 
I' 

I 

i 

:  i 
;l 

i 
■1 
J;  1 

1- 

'^l 

': 

NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


YORK,   MAINE. 

A  G  A  M  E  N  T  1  C  U  S. 

ANONYMOUS. 

Where  rises  graiul,  iiiMJestlc,  tall, 
As  in  a  drenin,  tho  towering  wall 

That  scorns  the  restless,  surging  tide, 
Once  spanned  the  mart  and  street  and  mall, 

And  arched  the  trees  on  every  side 

Of  this  great  city,  once  in  ])ride. 
For  hither  came,  a  knightly  train 

From  o'er  llie  sea  with  gorgeous  court  ; 
The  mayors,  gowned  in  rohes  of  state. 
Held  brilliant  tonrney  on  the  plain, 

And  massive  ships  within  the  port 

Discharged  their  load  of  richest  freight. 
Then  when  at  night,  the  sun  gone  down 

]]ehind  the  western  hill  and  tree. 
The  howls  were  filled,  —  this  toast  they  crown, 

"  Long  live  the  City  by  the  Sea  !  " 

Now  sailless  drift  the  lonely  seas, 
No  shallops  load  at  wharves  or  quays, 

But  hulks  are  strewn  along  the  shore,  — 
Gaunt  skeletons  indeed  are  these 

That  lie  enchanted  l)y  the  roar 

Of  ocean  wave  and  sighing  trees  ! 
Oh,  tell  me  where  the  pompous  squires, 

The  chant  at  eve,  the  matin  prayers, 
The  knights  in  armor  ibr  the  fray  ? 
The  mayors,  where,  and  courtly  sires, 

The  eager  traders  with  their  wares,  — 
How  went  these  people  hence  away  ? 
And  when  the  evening  sun  sinks  down. 

Weird  voices  come  from  hill  and  tree, 
Yet  tell  no  tales,  —  this  toast  they  crown, 

"  Long  live  the  Spectre  by  the  Sea ! " 


SAINT   ASPENQUID  OF  AGAMENTICUS. 


350 


SAINT  ASPENQUID   OF  AGAMENTICUS. 

MOUNT  Agameiiticus,  the  locality  of  tlio  following  legend, 
id  the  commanding  landmark  for  sixty  miles  up  and 
down  tlio  neighboring  coast.  The  name  has  the  true  martial 
ring  in  it.  This  mountain  rears  its  giant  back  on  the  border  of 
Maine,  almost  at  the  edge  of  tin;  sea,  into  which,  indeed,  it  seems 
advancing.  Its  form  is  at  once  graceful,  robust,  and  imposing. 
Nature  posted  it  here.  It  gives  a  character  to  tlie  whole  region 
that  surrounds  it,  over  wliich  it  stands  guard.  Nature  endowed 
it  with  a  purpose.  It  meets  the  mariner's  eye  far  out  to  sea, 
and  tells  him  how  to  steer  safely  into  his  destined  port. 

In  his  "Pictures  from  A^jpledore,"  the  poet  i^owell  makes  this 
reference  to  the  sailor's  mountain  :  — 

He  glowers  there  to  the  north  of  us 
Wrapt  in  liis  mantle  of  blue  haze, 
Uucoiivertibly  savage,  and  scorns  to  take 
Tlio  white  man's  baptism  on  his  ways. 
Ilim  first  on  shore  the  coaster  divines 
Through  the  early  gray,  and  sees  liim  shake 
The  morning  mist  from  his  scalp-lock  of  pines  : 
Him  Ih'st  the  skipper  makes  out  in  the  west. 
Ere  the  earliest  sunstreak  shoots  tremulous, 
Plashing  with  orange  the  pa]i)itant  lines 
Of  mutable  bilhnv,  crest  after  crest, 
Anil  murmurs  Agamaticus ! 
As  if  it  were  the  name  of  a  saint. 

The  name  is  in  fact  a  legacy  of  the  Indians  who  dwelt  at  its 
foot,  and  who  always  invested  the  mountain  with  a  sacred  char- 
acter. From  this  circumstance  comes  the  Indian  legend  of  Saint 
Aspeuquid,  whom  some  writers  have  identihed  with  the  patri- 
arch Passaconaway,  the  hero  of  so  many  wonderful  exploits  in 
healing  and  in  necromancy. 


i    i 


r  r 


!tr-" 


3G0 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


According  to  the  little;  we  are  able  to  recover  concerning  him, 
Saint  As|)cn(|ui(l  was  born  in  loSS,  and  was  nearly  one  hundred 
years  old  when  he  died.  He  was  converted  to  Christianity  — 
possibly  by  the  French  Jesuits  —  and  baptized  by  this  name 
when  he  was  about  forty  years  old  ;  and  lie  at  once  set  about  his 
long  and  active  ministration  among  the  people  of  his  own  race, 
to  whom  he  became  n  tutelary  saint  ami  prophet.  For  forty 
years  he  is  said  to  have  wandered  fioni  east  to  west  and  from 
north  to  south,  preaching  the  gospel  to  sixty-six  ditl'erent  na- 
tions, healing  the  sick,  and  performing  those  miracles  which 
raised  him  in  tlie  estimation  of  his  own  peoph;  to  the  character 
of  a  prophet  appoint(!d  by  Heaven,  and  in  that  of  the  wliites  to 
a  being  endowed  with  supernatural  jiowers.  These  wanderings 
had  carried  him  from  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic  to  the  Oalifor- 
iiian  Sea.  Grown  venerable  in  his  good  woik,  M'arned  that  he 
must  soon  be  gathered  to  his  fathers,  the  saint  at  last  came  home 
to  die  among  his  own  people.  Having  called  all  the  sachems  of 
the  dilferent  tribes  together  to  attend  his  solemn  funeral  obse- 
quies, they  carried  the  body  of  their  patriaich  to  the  summit  of 
Mourit  Agamenticus.  Previous  to  performing  the  rite  of  sepul- 
ture, and  agreeable  to  the  custom  held  sacred  by  these  people, 
the  hunters  of  each  tril^e  spread  themselves  throughout  the  for- 
ests. A  great  ninnber  of  wihl  beasts  w^ere  slaughtered  as  a  sac- 
rifice to  the  manes  of  tlic  departed  saint.  Tradition  affirms  thot 
on  that  day  were  slain  and  offered  up  between  six  and  seven 
thousand  wild  animals,  —  from  the  bear,  the  buffalo,  and  the 
moose,  down  to  the  porcupine,  the  woodchuck,  and  the  weasel. 

SAINT   ASPENQUID. 

JOHN    ALBEE. 

The  Indian  hero,  sorcerer,  and  saint, 
Known  in  the  land  as  Passaconaway, 
And  after  called  the  good  Suint  Aspencpiid, 
Returning,  travel  worn  and  spent  with  age 
From  vain  attempt  to  reconcile  his  race 


I 


SAINT   ASPENQUID   OF   AGAMENTICUS. 

With  ours,  Rcut  messengers  tlirougliout  the  East 

To  suiiimoii  all  the  blood-liomid  trilieM  to  him  ; 

For  that  upon  the  ancient  meeting-plaee, 

The  sacred  mountain  Agamenticus, 

When  next  tin;  moon  should  show  a  new-bent  how, 

He  there  would  celebrate  his  I'uneral  least 

With  sacrifices  due  and  farewell  talk. 

The  duskjf  people  heard  and  they  obeyed  j 

For  known  was  Aspeucpiid  in  all  the  camps, — 

Known  was  his  name  where  unknown  was  his  face  ;. 

His  conjuries,  his  valor,  and  liis  wit 

The  trackless  forests  traversed  many  a  year, 

And  made  his  name  a  word  of  omen  there. 

Then  gathered  they  from  all  the  hither  land 

Of  wide  St.  Lawrence  and  the  northern  lakes, 

The  warriors  of  the  great  Algonkin  race. 


The  feast  was  ended  :  bird  and  beast  were  shun 
(Three  thousand,  so  the  ancient  annals  say)  ; 
The  dance  was  danced  ;  and  every  rite  jterforined  ; 
And  gathered  round  the  summit  of  the  mount 
The  stately,  silent  sachems  stood  intent 
On  Aspencpiid.     He  over  all  was  tall 
And  straight  as  ash,  (hough  ripe  with  ninety  years. 
He  rose  majestic  on  the  sovereign  top 
Of  his  own  land,  and  in  that  solemn  hour 
He  seemed  to  tower  above  his  wonted  height 
As  towers  in  midmost  air  the  stricken  bird. 
His  locks  were  thin,  but  raven  black  and  long  ;, 
Nor  yet  his  eyes  had  lost  their  s]ilendid  dark. 
But  glowed  deep  set  beneath  a  low,  Ijroad  brow. 
Unpinched  by  age,  liis  face  was  firm,  and  bronzed 
Like  leaves  that  hang  all  winter  on  the  oak. 


361 


"  Warriors  and  braves,  come  nearer  to  j-our  chief! 
^ly  eyes,  that  once  could  brook  the  midday  sun, 
And  see  the  eagle  ere  myself  was  seen. 
Are  dimmed  with  age  ;  and  but  a  pace  beyond 
A  misty  light  seems  settled  over  all. 


I  a^  ' 


362 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Come  nearer,  braves,  that  I  may  tViast  my  eyes 
On  your  young  limbs,  on  what  myself  once  was  ! 


My  race  decays,  and  I  Iwu'e  lived  too  long  ; 

My  lind)3  with  ninety  weary  winters'  strife 

Are  sjient  ;  my  fathers  call  me  unto  them. 

I  go  to  comfoit  their  impatient  shades, 

And  respite  find  for  all  my  own  mischance. 

And  here  once  more  on  Agamenticua, 

My  old  ancestral  powwow's  sacred  seat, 

That  saw  the  waters  burn  and  trees  to  dance, 

And  winter's  withered  leaves  grow  green  again, 

And  in  dead  serpent's  skin  the  living  coil, 

Willie  they  themselves  would  change  themselves  to  flame  ; 

And  where  not  less  did  I  myself  conjure 

The  mighty  magic  of  my  fathers'  rites 

Against  my  foe,  —  yet  all  without  effect; 

The  spirits  also  flee  where  white  men  come. 

I  turn  to  join  my  kindred  sagamores. 

And  fly  before  the  doom  I  could  not  change. 


\ 


'l  I  '• 
Hi! 


^hlU 


i  m 


Light  not  the  tires  of  vengeance  in  your  hearts, 

For  sure  the  llame  will  turn  against  yourselves, 

And  you  will  perish  utterly  from  earth. 

Nor  yet  submit  too  meekly,  but  maintain 

The  valorous  name  once  ours  in  happy  days. 

Be  prudent,  wise,  find  always  slow  to  strike. 

Fall  back  ;  seek  other  shores  and  hunting-grounds,  — 

I  cannot  bear  you  perish  utterly  ! 

Though,  looking  tlirough  the  melancholy  years, 

I  see  the  end,  but  turn  n.y  face  away, 

So  heavy  are  my  eyes  with  unshed  tears  ; 

And  yours  too  I  would  turn,  warriors  and  braves  ! 

And  mind  not  my  prophetic  vision  much,  — 

Th'  unhappy  gift  of  him  who  lives  too  long ; 

But  mind  the  counsel  many  years  have  taughi, 

The  last  I  give  :  lemember  it,  and  live  !  " 


i 


^art  Cent()» 


OLD-COLONY    LEGENDS. 


fu^  -\f- 


I 


•l 


HANGING  BY   PROXY. 


IN  liis  "  New  English  Caiuuui,"  livrit  published  at  London  in 
1G32,  Thomas  Morton,  the  dispossessed  and  exiled  planter 
of  Mount  AVollaston,  (dian  ^lerry  Blount,  relates  the  droll 
doings  "  Of  a  Parliament  held  at  Wessaguscus."  W(!ssaguseus 
is  now  Weymouth,  Mass.  It  was  iirst  settled  l)y  a  trad- 
ing company  sent  out  by  Thomas  Weston,  —  a  London  mer- 
chant with  whom  the  Plymoutli  Pilgrims  had  had  sonio 
dealings,  but  whose  present  enterprise  they  regarded  with  no 
particular  favor.  This  ^Morton  is  a  character  about  whi(!h  there 
are  at  least  two  opinions  :  the  one  generally  received  being  that 
ho  was  a  lawless,  dissolute,  reckless,  and  able  scamp,  M'ho  hid 
a  vagabond  life  among  vagabond  followers ;  whence  Hubbard 
styles  him  "lord  of  nnsrule."  There  is  no  question  that  the 
Pilgrims  looked  up(jn  him  as  a  dangerous  neighbor,  or  that 
he  regarded  them  with  unconcealed  aversion  and  disdain.  So 
f\ir  as  he  Avas  anything,  lu;  was  a  Churchman  ;  while  they  were 
out-and-out  Separatists,  He  used  the  liook  of  Common  Prayer  ; 
they  abhorred  and  rejected  it.  He  calls  them  ironically  the 
"Brethren;"  they  term  him  "pettifogger"  and  "atheist." 
Such  opposite  views  in  morals  and  government  were  not  long 
connng  into  collision. 

Morton  was,  however,  a  man  of  education  and  ability,  —  which 
by  no  means  proves  that  he  was  not  all  the  Pilgrims  allege  him 


jF-prr 


366 


NFAV-EN(;i,ANI)    J.KCKNDS. 


•I,  V 


to  Ii;iv(;  been,  -  •  ;ii»  unprincipled  adveiiUuiii'.  'riikiny  liis  "  N<;w 
Kiigli.sli  CiUiiiiui  "  iiH  tilt'  index  (if  his  elianieter,  ou(f  reads  at 
every  few  lines  some  evidence  of  liis  strong'  predilectimi  for  a 
life  of  indolence!  and  pleasure.  His  idea  was  t<j  estahlisli  an 
An;adia,  with  the  natives  as  his  vassals.  ll(t  restoreil  the  Old- 
Knj^'lish  holiday  customs,  Avhich  the  Puritans  considered  idola- 
trous, and  which  they  had  prohiliited  among  themselves.  lie 
re(;lirist<']ied  liis  plantation  of  Mount  Wollaston  by  the  iiamo  of 
Merry  M(junt,  with  tlu^  old  ,May-l)ay  ceiciinuiies  of  wine,  wassail, 
and  the  dance  around  the  May-pole,  to  celebrate  the  change.  He 
coiiiptised  rifhlles  in  verse  addressed  to  his  followers  tliiit  show 
an  e(|ual  familiarity  with  classicial  lore  and  with  tli<;  debased 
luanni'rs  of  the  court  wits  and  rhyinesti  rs  of  the  day.  He 
furnished  the  Indians  with  lirearms  to  hunt  lor  him,  wh'eh 
they  soon  learned  to  use  against  their  nnisters.  Taking  tiie 
alarm,  the  outraged  Pilgrims  seized  and  shippcul  Morton  a  pris- 
oner to  England,  without  law  or  other  warrant  than  the  "higher 
law"  that  might  makes  right;  and  it  was  while  smarting  under 
the  sense  of  injury  that  Morton  wrote  this  most  entertaining 
account  of  his  personal  adventures  in  the  New  English  Canaan. 

This  brings  us  l)ack  to  Morton's  story  of  how  justice  was 
administered  at  that  early  day  in  Xew  England,  notably  at  the 
plantation  of  Wessaguscus.  It  is  no  fault  of  Morton  that  the 
tal(!  has  grown  since  leaving  his  capable  hands.  P>ut  to  him 
belongs  the  honor  of  having  lirst  set  it  down  in  black  and 
Avhite.     He  says  :  — 


"  Master  Weston's  plantation  being  settled  at.  Wessaguscus,  his 
servants,  or  many  of  them,  being  lazy  persons  that  would  use  no 
endeavor  to  take  the  benefit  of  the  country,  some  of  them  fell  sick 
and  died. 

"One  among  the  rest,  an  able-bodied  man  that  ranginl  the  forest 
to  see  what  it  would  afford  him,  stumbled  by  accident  on  an  Indian 
granary,  concealed,  as  the  custom  was  with  those  people,  under- 
ground ;  and  from  it  he  took  a  capful  of  corn,  and  then  went  his 
way.  The  Indian  owner,  finding  by  the  footprint  that  the  tliief 
was  an  Englishman,  came  and  made  his  complaint  at  the  plantation. 


llAN«IN(i    IJY    PitOXY. 


367 


"'I'Ik!  chid"  coiiiinmidcr  of  iht'  coinpaiiy  iinmcdiutcly  called  td- 
gotlici'  .'1  iiailiiuiiciit  ol'  all  Um^v.  wlm  wcic  iiol  sick,  to  hear  and 
(letcriiiinc  tiic  cuiisi!  ol'  cotniilainl.  And  wisclv  iidw,"  coiitiiuics 
Morton,  with  playful  irony,  "they  sliuuld  consult  njion  this  hu,L;i! 
complaint,  that  a  knih'  or  a  string'  of  heads  would  well  cnou^di  have 
dispoHCMl  ol',  Edward  .lohnson  hcini,'  made;  a  special  ,jud;4e  ol'  this 
husiness.  The  I'act  was  there  in  repetition,  constiudion  made  that 
it  was  11  felony,  and  hy  tin-  laws  of  Kneland  punished  with  death  ; 
and  this  in  exc^cution  nuist  he  put  for  an  exaniph',  and  likewise  to 
ap[)ea!se  the  savage  ;  when  strai^^htway  one  arose,  nioveil  as  it  weie 
with  some  eompassion,  and  said  he  could  not  well  gainsay  liie  former 
sentence,  yet  la;  had  conceived  within  the  comi)asrt  of  his  brain  an 
Einhrion  (an  iinhorn  child)  that  was  of  Rj)ecial  conseciuence  to  be 
delivered  and  cherished.  He  8aid  that  it  would  most  aptly  serve  to 
pacify  the  savage's  complaint,  and  save  tiie  lile  of  one  that  mi,i;hl 
(if  ne(Ml  should  he)  stand  them  in  some  go(jd  stead,  hein,^'  young  and 
strong,  lit  for  resistance  against  an  enemy,  which  might  come  un- 
expected for  anything  they  knew. 

"This  (jration  was  liked  liy  every  one;  and  the  orator  was  en- 
treated to  show  how  this  end  might  lie  reached,     lie  went  on:  — 

"  Says  he, '  Vou  all  agree  that  one  must  die,  and  oni;  shall  die.  This 
young  man's  clothes  we  will  take  oil',  and  put  upon  one  that  is  old  and 
impotent,  —  a  sickly  person  that  cannot  escape  <leath  ;  such  is  the 
disease  on  him  conlirmed.  that  die  he  must  :  put  the  young  man's 
clothes  on  ilns  man,  and  let  the  sicl<  person  be  hanged  in  the  other's 
stead.'     'Amen,'  says  one  ;  and  so  say  many  more. 

"And  this  had  like  to  ha\e  ]iroveil  tlieir  linal  sentence,  and  being 
there  coidirmed  by  Act  of  Pailiament  to  after-ages  for  a  precedent, 
but  that  one  with  a  ravemms  voice  l)egaii  to  croak  and  bellow  for 
nn'enge,  and  put  by  that  conclusive  motion,  alleging  that  such 
deceits  might  be  a  means  hereafter  to  exasperate  the  minds  of  the 
complaining  savages,  and  that  by  his  death  the  savages  should  see 
their  zeal  to  do  justice  ;  and  therefore  he  should  die.  This  was  con- 
cluded. Yet,  nevertheless,  a  scrujile  was  made  ;  now  to  liouiiter- 
mand  this  act  did  represent  itself  unto  their  minds,  which  was  how 
they  should  do  to  get  the  man's  good-will.  This  was  in<lee<l  a  special 
obstacle,  for  withcnit  (that  they  all  agreed)  it  would  be  dangerous 
for  any  man  to  attempt  the  execution  of  it,  lest  mischief  should  be- 
fall them,  every  man.  He  was  a  person,  that  in  his  wrath  did  seem 
to  be  a  second  Samson,  able  to  beat  out  their  brains  with  the  jawbone 


I 


1^  nf 


il 

i; 

i: 

1 

i 

I 
i 

1 
1 

i 

i 

'§  i 


::!68 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


of  an  ass.  Therefi)rc  tlicy  calliMl  tho  man,  and  l)y  persuasion  got 
liini  fast  bonnil  in  jest,  and  tliun  iiaUL^ed  liini  up  hard  by  in  good 
eariK'st,  who  with  a  weapon,  and  at  lilierty,  wouhl  havo  i)ut  all  these 
wisu  judges  of  this  iiarlianient  to  a  pililul  nun  jdus  (as  it  liatli  been 
credibly  reported),  and  made  the  chief  judge  of  them  all  buckle 
to  him." 

This  is  ]\I  oil's  own  narration.  Tho  actual  culprit,  ho  do- 
clares,  Avas  really  hanged,  in  s[)ito  of  tho  ingenious  pro])Osal  to 
hang  up  anotlier  man  in  his  stead,  •which  at  Hrst  had  tickled  tho 
fancy  of  tlio  parliament.  As  if  to  corroborate  tho  story,  Hrad- 
fonl  tells  us  that  these  Wessaguscus  jjlanters  wore  fain  to  Iiang 
one  of  their  men  whom  they  could  not  reclaim  from  stealing,  in 
order  u)  give  the  Indians  content. 

Morton's  story  is  generally  admitted  to  he  tho  foundation  for 
Butler's  mirth-provoking  one  in  "  Hndihras,"  which  appeared 
thirty  years  later,  to  delight  the  world  with  its  incomparable 
drollery  and  .satire.  The  satirist,  Avhom  nothing  escaped,  there 
puts  it  into  tho  mouth  of  IJalpho,  v/ho  is  endeavoring  in  a 
most  Jesuitical  way  to  clear  away  his  master's  .scrui)les  in  regard 
to  the  flagellation  he  had  promised  to  undergo  ft)r  his  lady's 
sake,  hut  was  disposed  to  avoid.  The  squire  artfully  debates 
tho   point  of  honor  involved  :  — 

Though  nice  and  dark  tlie  point  appear, 
Quoth  Ral[)h,  it  may  hold  up  and  clear. 
That  sinners  may  supply  the  place 
Of  sulfering  saints,  is  a  plain  case. 
Justice  gives  sentence  many  times 
On  one  man  for  another's  crimes. 
Our  brethren  of  New  England  use 
Choice  malefactors  to  excuse. 
And  hang  the  guiltless  in  their  stead, 
Of  whom  the  churches  have  less  need. 
As  lately 't  happened  ;  in  a  town 
There  liv'd  a  cobbler,  and  but  one 
That  out  of  doctrine  could  cut  use, 
And  mend  men's  lives  as  well  as  shoes. 


HAN(J1N(;    BY    IMIOXY.  i^GO 

Tliis  pi'eeious  brother  '>(iviiig  slain, 
III  lime  111"  iiuiicc,  an  liuliaii, 
Not  (lilt  of  iiialici',  hut  iii(!re  zotil, 
Ik'caiisc  Ik;  was  an  inlidcl, 
Tlu;  iiiiglity  Toltipottinioy 
Sent  to  uiir  fldi'is  an  t'lnoy, 
Coiniiluinin,:,'  sorely  ol'tlie  hreacli 
One:igiU',  lield  forth  by  brother  I'atcli, 
A,^uinst  th(!  articles  in  i'orce 
Between  both  churehes,  his  and  ours. 
But  they  niutiireiv  haviu!^  wei'diM 
They  iiad  no  more  but  liiiii  o'  tli'  trade, 
A  iiiaii  tliat  serv'd  them  in  a  doubhj 
Capacity  to  tea(  Ii  and  coblile, 
ResoivM  to  >iiaie  him  ;  yet  to  do 
The  Indian  Jio^han  iIoL,dian  too 
Inqiartial  Justice,  in  iiis  stead  did 
lian,!^-  an  ohl  weaver  tliat  was  lie(hid. 

In  the  author's  notes  to  the  early  editions  ol'  "Hudibras"  the 
story  is  asserted  t(j  l)e  true,  llulthard  repeats  it  witli  the  quali- 
fication that  the  liaiiying  was  only  pretended,  although  he  .had 
seen  the  ('xtraet  we  have  j^iven  I'roin  IJradl'ord  ;  and  he  had 
also  road  and  enjoy(!d  tin;  manner  "  witli  which  the  merry  gon- 
th'inan  that  wrote  '  Jludihras '  did  in  his  poetical  fancy  make 
so  mncli  sport." 

That  ill  (jiie  Inrin  or  another  the  story  now  hecame  current  as 
true,  is  no  h»nger  a  matter  of  doiihl.  We  next  discover  it  in 
a  dilfereiit  ilress,  relati'd  with  much  gust(j  liy  (loveriuu'  Diidlev  to 
Captain  Uring,  and  [irinted  at  lengtli  in  the  latt(n''s  "Voyages." 
It  will  be  seen  that  the  anecdote  has  lost  nothing  by  passin,"'  from 
mouth  to  mouth.     This  i.s  Ooveriior  Dudley's  version  : 

"One  day,  while  a  carpenter  was  cutting  (h)wn  a  tree,  and  a 
crowd  of  Indians  stood  around,  watching  Wi'vy  Idow  with  the  greatest 
attention,  the  tree  fell  on  one  of  them  wiio  did  not  get  out  of  the 
way,  killing  him  on  the  spot.  The  other  Indians  set  up  a  great 
howling  over  tlie  dead  l.ody,  while  the  frightened  carpenter  ran  and 
hid   himself  to  escape  their  veiigeaiuic  ;  for  they  foolishly  thou<dit 

24 


p.^  !<' 


! 

i 

t 

f 

i 

m 

ll 

'MO 


NEW-ENULAND    LEGENDS. 


liiiu  to  blame  i'or  lliu  dcititli  o!  their  coiupaiiidii.  The  Engli.sh  tried 
to  persuiide  them  that  the  carpenter  was  not  at  fault;  but  nothing 
short  o!  his  death  wouLl  [lac'il'y  tlieni.  'i'iiey  denianded  that  he 
siiould  be  given  up  to  tiuMii  i'or  execution.  Seeing  liieni  thus  en- 
raged, and  tearing  that  they  might  tall  upon  and  destiny  tiu'in,  tiie 
iMi'disl:  linally  i)romised  to  hang  tiie  unlucky  carj)enter  themselves. 
The  Indian-,  were  told  to  come  the  next  morning,  and  they  Avould 
isee  him  hanging  from  a  particular  tree,  ihit  the  carpeuti^r  being  a 
young  and  hisly  ieliow,  and  very  usei'ul,  they  concluded  tliey  could 
not  spare  him  ;  and  there  being  in  tiie  I'ort  an  old  l)edridd(!n  weaver 
who  iiad  not  long  to  live,  he  was  taken  out  to  the  tree  and  t|uietly 
hanged  in  the  room  ol'  tlie  carpenter,  to  tlie  entire  satisi'action  ol' tlie 
Indians,  who  did  not  detect  the  ciieat,  and  who  became  good  liiends 


THE   OLD   OAKEN   BUCKET. 

TlIK  tom:h  of  nature  to  whicii  all  yielil,  has  no  higher  exem- 
plification than  in  those  simple  ballads  of  liome  and  its 
associations  that  have  made  tlie  names  of  Payne  and  Wot^lworth 
immortal.  One  does  not  care  to  analyze  his  sensations  ;  lio 
forgets  the  homely  phrase  ;  he  feels,  and  is  deeply  all'eeted  by 
the  awakening  of  those  memories  wdiieli  carry  him  back  to  the 
days  of  his  happy  and  innocent  childhood  ;  he  is  a  child  again. 
Tliis  secret,  yet  powerful  chord  was  strttck  by  Samuel  "Wooil- 
worth  in  his  "  Old  Oaken  Ijucket;"  and  it  has  not  yet  ceased  to 
vibrate  a  tender  harmony  whenever  that  masterpiece  of  human 
emotion  is  si)oken  or  sung. 

Dear  old  "  Ooldy  "  has  well  expressed  that  inextinguishable 
yearning  for  the  spot  of  ground  we  call  "home"  in  these  touch- 
ing lines  :  — 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs,  —  and  God  has  given  my  share,  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return,  and  die  at  home  at  last. 


THE   OLD   OAKEN    BUCKET. 


371 


I 


I 


What  are  those  eiidoaring  scones  Avliich  in  the  "  Okl  Oaken 
Jjiicket  "  tint!  their  counterpart  in  the  nieiuory  of  thousajids? 

'J'he  town  of  Scitnate,  jNIassachnsetts,  one  of  the  niost  ancient 
of  the  Old  Colony,  joins  Coliasset  on  the  south.  Its  history  is 
memorable  and  interesting.  Tiie  peofjle  come  of  a  hardy  and 
determined  ancestry,  who  f(night  for  every  inch  of  ground  that 
their  descendants  now  hold.  To  this  fact  nray  perliaps  he  re- 
ferred the  strength  of  those  associations,  clinging  like  ivy  around 
some  of  the  most  notable  of  the  ancient  lujmestciads.  To  bor- 
row from  Mr.  Nason  :  "The  scene  so  vividly  described  in  ^Ir. 
Woodworth's  charming  lyric  is  a  little  valley  through  which 
Hei'ring  IJrook  pursues  its  devious  way  to  meet  tlic^  tiilal  wat(;rs 
of  North  Iviver.  The  view  of  it  from  Coleman  Ibnghts,  with 
its  neat  cottages,  its  maple-groves  and  api)l(!-orchards,  is  remark- 
ably beautiful.  The  '  wide-spreading  pond,'  the  '  mill,'  the 
*  dairy-house,' the  'rock  where  the  cataract  fell,'  and  even  tiie 
'old  well,'  if  not  tlu;  'moss-covered  bucket'  itself,  may  still  be 
seen  just  as  the  poet  described  them." 

Among  these  scenes  Samuel  Woodworth,  tlic  people's  p(jct, 
was  born  and  reared.  Although  the  house  is  no  longer  tiiere, 
many  pilgrims  stop  at  its  modern  successor  in  order  to  slake 
their  thirst  at  the  waters,  the  recollection  of  which  gavi;  the  poet 
such  ex(piisite  pleasure  in  after  years.  One  would  still  have  the 
surroundings  unchanged,  —  the  cot  Avhere  lie  dwelt,  the  pon- 
derous well-sweep,  creaking  with  age,  that  his  youthful  hands 
tugged  feebly  at ;  and,  linally,  the  mossy  bucket  overflowing 
with  crystal  nectar  fresh  from  the  cotil  depths  below,  lint  since 
changes  will  come  to  transform  the  pM'ture,  the  susceptible  vis- 
itor must  be  content  to  (piaif  a  draught  of  purest  water  to  the 
memory  of  one  of  the  kindliest  poets  that  our  New  England  soil 
has  produced. 

To  this  rapid  sketch  of  tlu;  scene  we  may  now  add  the  history 
of  the  popular  ballad,  "The  Old  Oaken  Bucket."  The  circum- 
stances under  which  it  was  composed  and  written — and  they 
embody  a  moral  as  well  as  consecrate  a  memory  —  are  said  to 
be  as  follows  ;  — 


p 


ivm.     \' 


I    I 


lii 


U  ■  I  I 


■^B§$£^mm 


Till'.    Ol.K    OAKl'.N    lUTKKT. 


• 


THE    OLD    OAKLN    BUCKET. 


373 


I 


Samuel  Woodwortli  was  a  printer,  who  had  served  his  appren- 
ticeship under  the  veteran  ]\lajor  Jlussell,  of  " 'J'he  CViliimbian 
Ccntinel,"  a  journal  which  was  in  its  day  the  leatling  Federalist 
organ  of  New  England.  He  had  inherited  the  wandering  pro])en- 
sity  of  his  class;  yielding  to  which  he  iu  due  time  removed  tirst 
to  Havtford,  and  then  to  New  York,  where,  after  an  unsuccessful 
career  as  a  publisher,  he  became  associated  witli  Morris  as  one 
of  the  founders  of  "  The  Mirror."  It  was  while  he  was  living 
iu  New  York,  and  after  many  vicissitudes  had  tem[)eretl  the 
enthusiasm  of  Ids  youth,  that,  in  com[iany  with  some  brother 
printers,  he  one  day  dropped  in  at  a  well-known  establishment, 
then  kept  by  Mallory,  to  take  a  soci;d  glass  with  tliem.  Tho 
cognac  was  pronounced  excellent.  .\l'ter  tasting  it,  Woodworth 
set  his  glass  down  on  the  table,  and  smacking  his  lips,  declared 
emphatically  that  .Mailory's  tai(  dc  vie  was  sujjerior  to  anything 
that  he  had  ever  tasteil. 

"There  you  are  mistaken,''  said  one  of  his  comrades  cpiietly  ; 
then  adding,  "there  certainly  was  one  thing  that  far  surpassed 
this  in  the  v,-ay  of  drinking,  as  you,  too,  will  readily  acknowledge 
when  you  hear  it." 

"  Indeed  ;  and  pray  what  was  that  ?"  "Woodworth  asked,  with 
apparent  incredulity  that  anything  couKl  surpass  the  liquor  then 
before  him. 

"The  draught  of  i)ure  and  sparkling  spring  water  that  we 
used  to  get  from  the  olil  oaken  bucket  that  liung  in  tlie  well, 
after  our  return  from  the  labors  of  the  lield  on  a  sultry  sununer'a 
day." 

No  one  s[)oke  ;  all  were  busy  with  their  own  thoughts. 

A  tear-drop  glistened  for  a  moment  inWoodworth's  eye.  "True, 
true,"  he  exclaimed  ;  and  soon  after  (piitted  the  place.  With  a 
heart  overflowing  with  the  recoUei-tions  that  this  chance  allusion 
in  a  bar-room  had  inspired,  the  scene  of  his  happier  childhood 
life  rushed  upon  him  in  a  flood  of  feeling.  He  hastened  back 
to  tho  office  in  which  he  then  worked,  seized  a  pen,  and  in  half 
an  hour  had  written  the  popular  ballad  which  follows.  Wood- 
worth  died  in  1842,  at  tho  age  of  fifty-seven.     His  reputation 


r 


374 


NEW-ENGLANI>   LEGENDS. 


il 


rests  upon  this  one  stroke  of  geniud.  He  never  wrote  unytliing 
better  than  this  beautiful  lyric,  wliich  is  capable  of  husliing  the 
most  boisterous  assemblies  into  silence,  —  such  is  the  Immago 
that  all  instinctively  pay  to  the  jjurest  and  lioliest  of  human 
associations. 

THE   OLD   OAKEN   BUCKET. 

SAMUEL   WOODWORTH. 

How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childliood, 

Wheu  fcind  Recollection  presents  tlieni  to  view  ! 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wildwo(«l, 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew,  — 
The  widc-spreadiiii^'  pinid,  and  the  mill  which  stood  hy  it, 

The  liridgv,  and  tiic  vm-k  where  the  cataract  i'eli  ; 
The  cot  of  my  latln-r,  the  dairydiouse  iii^Ji  it. 

And  e'en  the  riidc  bucket  which  liimg  in  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-l)ouiid  bucket, 
The  moss-covered  Imcket  which  hung  in  the  well. 

That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hail  as  a  treasure  ; 

For  often,  at  noon,  when  returned  IVom  the  field, 
I  fcnnid  it  the  source  of  an  ex([uisite  pleasure, — 

The  purest  and  sweetest  that  uiilure  can  yield. 
How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing  ! 

And  (piick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom  it  fell  ; 
Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing, 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  ivso  from  the  well, — 
The  (jld  oaken  bucket,  the  inm-lxumd  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it. 

As,  poised  on  the  curb,  it  inclined  to  my  lips  ! 
Not  a  fidl  bbisliiiiLr  gol)l('t  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it, 

Though  lilleil  with  the  nectar  that  Jupiter  sips. 
And  now,  hn-  removed  i'rom  the  loved  situation, 

The  tear  of  Regret  will  intrusively  swell, 
As  T"  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation, 

And  siglis  for  the  Ijucket  wdiich  hangs  in  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket  wduch  hangs  in  the  well. 


DESTHUCTION    OF   MINOT's    LUaiT. 


DESTRUCTION    OF   MINOT'S   LIGHT. 


375 


TUIK  dangerous 
Cohassc.'t,  so 
separate  rock  looks 


reef  stretching  far  out  into  tlie  sea  from 
shaggy  with  kelp  and  rockweed  that  each 
like  the  head  of  a  monster  rising  to  take 

breath,  has  aetjuired  a 
fatal  celebrity.  Many 
a  good  ship's  bones 
lie  buried  in  the 
treacherous  sands,  or 
whitening  among  the 
sharp  rocks  in  the  oil- 
ing. In  tli(^  autumnal 
gal(!  of  184!),  fully 
one  hundred  lives 
were  sacriliced  to  its 
fury  u[)on  this  coast. 
In  that  gale  tlie  ill- 
fated  "St.  dohn's,"  an 
emigrant  ship,  struc, 
here  on  Cohasset 
liocks,  when  within 
sight  of  lier  pmt,  and 
became  a  total  wreck. 
Twenty-seven  botlies 
were  recovered,  and 
buried  in  the  village 


THK   FIRST   MINOT  S   LIGUTUOLSE. 


w 


M 

iTrl 


M  i 


D 


370 


NEW-ENGLAND    LECENDS. 


gruvoyiinl.  Tho.so  who  liiivo  visitcil  tlio  Miiiot'.s  Lij^'litliouso 
only  on  a  summer's  day  can  fnintly  imaj^inc  the  fury  of  a 
wintry  storm,  rr  the  power  witli  wliicli  the  seas  tlien  dash 
themselves  high  over  the  lantern  of  th.;  tower.  The  place  ha<l 
lung  been  one  of  terror  to  mariners,  when,  arous(Hl  hy  the  long 
catalogue  of  disasters  signalling  it,  the  (iovi'rnnient  in  184!) 
began  the  erection  of  a  lighthouse  on  Minot's  IJock,  known  to 
be  ( "ae  of  the  most  dangerous  of  this  dangerous  shore.  It  was 
constructed  upon  the  ut)V('l,  and  as  it  proV(Ml  the  mistaken,  idea 
of  opposiii  's  little  resistance  tt)  the  free  movement  of  tiie 
waves  as  ])ossihle.  With  this  view  ponderous  ii'on  piles  were 
sunk  deep  in  the  rock,  and  u|>on  tlusm  was  built  the  keeper's 
house  and  lantern,  the  lloor  of  the  dwelling  being  thus  elevated 
fully  forty  feet  above;  the  seas  which  rolled  beneath  it.  Wiien 
the  great  storm  of  April  14,  IS;")!,  to  wliicli  people  long  referred 
with  a  slnulder,  begiin,  iJennet,  the  keeper,  was  on  shore,  tho 
lighthouse  being  then  in  charge  of  two  assistants.  The  storm 
steadily  increased  to  a  tremendous  gale  from  the  northea.st,  that 
continued  with  unabated  fury  throughout  the  two  succeeding 
days.  V>y  this  time  grave;  apprehensions  began  to  l)e  felt  for 
the  security  of  the  structure.  Tlio  last  time  that  the  lighthouse 
was  seen  standing  was  shortly  after  three  o'clock  on  "Wednesday, 
the  third  day  of  the  gale.  The  weather  tlien  became  too  thick 
to  distinguish  it;  but  the  lantern  was  not  lighted,  as  usual, 
during  that  night,  or  if  lighted,  it  could  not  be  made  out  from 
t!ie  shore.  At  an  early  hour  on  the  following  morning  the 
keeper,  while  making  his  round,  found  fragments  of  the  resi- 
dence strewed  along  tin;  beach.  The  lighthouse  with  all  it  con- 
tained had  been  swept  away  during  that  nigiit  of  fear,  an<l 
no  one  had  been  left  to  tell  the  tale.  When  tho  gale  had 
spent  itself,  the  great  wavcss  were  seen  tossing  in  mad  glee-  on 
the  spot  where  it  had  stood  :  the  beautiful  aerial  tower  had 
disappeared. 


I 


minot's  i,kim;k. 


377 


MINOT'S    LKDGK,    MASS. 

BY    KIl'/-,JA.Mi;8    (VuiUKN. 

LiKK  spectral  Iioiinds  across  llio  sky, 
'l"ln!  wliitu  cloiuls  scinl  Iji-lbro  tlio  storm  ; 
And  iiak(Ml  in  [|ri  liowliii;,'  iiii,'Lt 
Till!  rcd-cycil  li.Ljlitliouso  lifts  its  f'onu. 
Tiic  waves  witii  slippery  fin-crs  idutcli 
The  massive  tower,  and  ilinil)  and  lail, 
And,  muttering,  growl  willi  Imllled  rage 
Their  curses  on  the  stuidy  wall. 

Up  in  the  lonely  tower  he  sits, 
Tile  keejier  ol'  the  criiiison  ji^rht  ; 
Silent  and  awestruck  does  he  iiear 
The  inii-rerations  of  the  night  ; 
'i'hi!  wjiile  spray  heats  against  the  pane^ 
Like  some  Wet  giiost  that  down  the  air 
Is  iiunU'd  hy  a  troop  of  fiends, 
And  seeks  a  slndter  anywhere. 

He  prays  aloud,  (he  lonely  man, 
For  eveiy  soul  that  night  at  sea, 
But  more  than  all  lor  that  brave  hoy 
Who  used  to  gayly  diml)  his  knee,  — 
Young  Chailie,  with  his  chestnut  hair 
And  hazel  eye  and  laughing  li]). 
"  May  Heaven  h)ok  down,"  the  old  man  cries, 
"  Upon  my  son.  and  on  his  shi[)  ! " 

While  thus  with  pious  heart  he  prays, 
Far  in  the  distance  sounds  a  hoom  : 
He  pauses  ;  and  again  there  rings 
That  sullen  thunder  through  the  room. 
A  ship  upon  the  shoals  to-night ! 
She  cannot  hold  for  one  half  hour; 
But  clear  the  ropes  and  grappling-hooks, 
And  tni.st  in  the  Almighty  Power! 


I 


rii 


378  NKW-KNGLANI)    LEdENDS. 

Oil  the  (IrcnclKMl  ,L;all('ry  he.  stands, 

Striviiiy  to  iiimt'  tlic  sulid  iiiylit  : 

Across  the  sen  the  red  eye  throws 

A  Hteiidy  criiusoii  wiike  ol"  lij,dit  ; 

And,  whia'c!  it  fall.s  uixm  tU(!  waves, 

III!  sees  a  Uiinian  liead  lloat  by, 

With  loii;^'  drenched  eiiils  (it  eliestnut  hair, 

And  wild,  Imt  leiirlesiti  hazel  eye. 

Out  with  the  lionks  !     One  niij,dity  llinj;  ! 
A(h)wu  the  wind  tlie  long  rojie  cnrls. 
Oh  !    will  it  catch  (     Ah,  dread  snsiienso, 
While  tlie  wild  ocean  wilder  whirls! 
A  Hteady  [mil  ;  it  li;^litens  now  : 
Oh  1  his  old  heart  will  bur-st  with  joy, 
As  on  the  slippery  rocks  he  pulls 
The  hreallung  body  of  his  boy. 

Still  sweep  the  spectres  through  the  sky  ; 
Still  scud  the  clouds  l)eiore  the  storm  ; 
Still  naked  in  tiie  liowling  night 
The  red-eyed  lighthouse  lilts  its  form. 
Without,  the  world  is  wild  with  rage; 
Unkennelled  demons  are  abroad  : 
But  with  the  father  and  the  son 
Within,  there  is  the  pcac;i  of  (Jod. 


LEGENDS   OF   PLYMOUTH   ROCK. 


"VTU  good  American  -would  willingly  die  without  having  seen 
-i-^      Plyniouth  Rock. 

There  is  no  certain  record  of  a  day  upon  which  all  of  the 
"  Mayflower's  "  company  dis(;nil)arked  ;  but  those  having  the  best 
right  to  do  it  iixed  the  date  as  the  22(1  of  De(?ember,  1020. 

Justly  regarded  as  the  most  important  one  in  American  his- 
tory, the  event  has  been  celebrated  by  some  of  the  most  spirited 


I! 


1 


li:<;kni)s  ok  Plymouth  hock. 


370 


poems  in  tlio  latij^'iugc ;  and  to  tlio.sc  \vh(.  lov(^  tlio  (.Id  .songs  — 
and  who  (Iocs  not  {  —  tli(f  .stanzas  of  Foliciii  Jlcnums,  Pierpont, 
Si<'(.uiiicy,  Spni-uc,  and  I'crcival,  retain  all  the  (Vcslincss  and 
in.spiration  of  tlicir  (iliildiiood's  days. 

Till!  lionor  of  liaving   lii.st  touclicd  the  slK^ns   <m    tin-    c)V(!r- 
mcmorablo  day  is  .sliarnd  by  two  claimants.      Kotli  are  snpportod 


MARY  Chilton's  lkai*. 

by  family  tradition.  That  giving  it  to  John  Ahhm  was  handed 
down  through  successive;  generations,  until  it  was  print(!d  in  his 
collection  of  Epitaphs,  by  the  Reverend  Timothy  Alden,  3).D., 
a  lineal  descendant  of  John,  and  thus  obtained  a  permanent 
record. 


380 


NEW-ENliLAND   LKCllMi^. 


Tho  socoiul  cluiiiifuit  is  Mary  (.'liiltoii,  a  iiiaiilcii  wlm  suImo- 
quL'iilly  Ijcjciimc.  tin;  wil'ir  oi'  .lolin  Wiiislnw  df  I'lymouili,  ami 
tliii  iiiutlior  of  u  lai^t'  I'aiiiily  iiilici'itiii;^  tlic  iiinsl  tlistiu^^iii.slicd 
traits  of  tlio  I'ilj^riiiis,  willi  an  lioiKiralilc  iiainc  'I'Ih'  liiishaiKl 
dl'  Mary  Cliiltini  rciiiiivcij  aiicr  a  tiiiir  IVmn  the  OKI  Colony  lo 
Ho.stoii,  wliere  thu  I'aiiiily  tomli,  wiih  its  anus,  may  lir  sci'ii  in 
Kind's  Cliapi'l  Yanl. 

It  is  a  sumowliat  curious  I'acl  that  a  ini'ijiscly  similar  trailitioii 
exists  with  rcs2)t'ct  to  the  landing  at  Jiostoii,  whicli  runs  to  thu 
I'ircct  that,  buin^  thi'ii  u  romiiiug  girl,  Aniic  I'dUanl  dcclarctl  that 
she  would  lie  the  iirst  porsun  to  jump  on  shore,  and  was  as  good 
as  her  woril  as  soon  us  the  boat's  keel  grounded  upon  the  beaeli. 

Hut  whoever  maybe  entitled  to  the  preference, — and  that 
question  will  probalily  remain  unsettled, — the  simplt\aet  sur- 
rounds the,  statuesque  ligure  of  the  eager  youth  or  maiden  with 
a  glamour  rendering  it  tiie  foi.niost  and  striking  object  of  the 
historical  picture.  There  is  still  another  point  of  view.  A 
youth  in  the  full  vigor  <if  n'anhood,  whose  posterity  should 
inherit  the  virgin  land,  sets  In ;  nervous  foot  upon  the  corner- 
stone of  a  nation,  and  makes  it  m  historic  .spot.  A  young  girl  in 
the  first  bloom  of  wouiaidiood,  the  type  of  a  coming  maternity, 
boldly  crosses  tiie  tliicslmld  of  a  wildernl^•^s  which  her  children's 
ehildieii  sliall  possess  and  inhal)it,  and  transforms  it  into  an 
Eden.  Surely  .T<ihn  Alden  sliould  have  married  Mary  ("liilton 
on  the  spot. 


MA!{V    Cllil.TOX. 


GEOHfiK    BANCUOl'T    (lUIKFITII. 


Fair  beams  tiial  kiss  the  sparkling  bay, 

Rest  wannest  o'er  her  tranquil  sleep, 
Sweet  exile  !  love  enticed  away,  — 

The  first  citi  Plymouth  Rock  to  lea])! 
Among  the  timid  flock  she  stood. 

Rare  figure,  near  the  "  Mayflower's  "  prow, 
With  heart  of  Christian  fortitude, 

And  li'dit  heroic  on  her  hrow! 


LKGENU8   OK    I'LYMOl'TH    UUIJK. 


•Ml 


O  yv  wlio  niiuiil  Kiiii^V  Clminl  stray, 

h'dr^'ft  llic  Imiiiiiil  uf  llif  ^t^(■l■l  ; 
'riiiPiii^'li  loliicr  iiiiMio  arc  iniiml  licr,  la\ 

A  wiviilli  (if  tliiwi'i'H  at   Man's  left  I 
'I'lidu^li  ^'allaiit  Wiiisldws  shiiiilu'r  IkiM', 

I'Vcii  Wdilliy  l.aily  Ainlms  loo, 
III  r  iiiciiKin'  is  still  as  diiar, 

And  jidcts"  ])iaisi'  td  Mary  diie. 


I 


'^jn'^ 


ANCII'.NT    NTONK,    lillUM.    1111,1,. 


Bat  l)(.'si(l(!s  lii-iiid  the  renownod  stL'j)i)ing-.stoiic  of  history, 
Forefathers'  Kock  has  OxVerted  in  the  course  of  time  upon  tho 
minds  of  men  who  stood  in  the  presence  of  grave  events,  a 
secret,  a  talisiuanic  influence.  In  the  antique  thiys  of  cliivalry 
men  seldom  set  out  upon  any  douhtful  or  hazardous      '^'cnture 


>r 


1    I 


i  'I 


i! 


Hi 


' 


382 


NEW-EN(JLAXD    LKtiKNDS. 


witlioiit  lirst  visiting  woiiiu  holy  shrine,  and  imploring  this  aid  or 
])nilecUiin  nl'  their  patron  saint.  In  liicso  later  times  men  have, 
repaired  I'or  inspiration  to  this  roek  as  tli(!y  would  to  a  shrine, 
and  they  ]ia\'e  not  l)i'en  aslianied  to  ecjniess  that  tliey  i'ouiid  it 
a  Living  h'ock,  nerving  tliem  to  patriotic  ellort,  or  moving  them 
to  ins[)ired  utterances  in  l.)ehaU'  ot  mankinil. 

When   in    1774  all   the  land   was    in  a  ilame,  the    sj)irit  of 
the  Old  Colony  having  risen   to  fever  heat,  it  was  determined 

newly  to  consecrate 
the  rock  to  tlie  divine 
spirit  of  Liberty.  Un 
tiie  appointed  day 
all  the.  rcjads  lead- 
ing into  Plymouth 
were  throngeil.  Four 
thousand  frticmen 
had  assembled  with- 
in the  town  ])y  I  oou- 
day  on  the  5th  of 
Octol)er.  They  were 
met  to  phnlge  them- 
selves to  each  other 
against  the  ojjpres- 
siou  of  the  mother 
country.  All  were 
animated  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  acting 
in  a  rightful  cause 
that  moved  them  as 
one  man  ;  all  were  burning  with  patrioti(;  zi^al.  They  first  re 
quired  all  the  Tory  j)artisans  of  the  Crown  to  make  a  public 
recantation.  This  l)eing  done,  tb'.iy  proceeded  to  the  spot  where 
their  ancestors  had  landed,  with  the  purpo.se  of  removing  Fore- 
fathers' Ro('k  to  the  public  .square  in  the  centre  of  the  village. 
But  while  it  was  being  raised  from  its  primitive  bed,  and  as  if 
to  oppose  the  act  of  desecration,  the  rock  suddenly  split  in  two. 


MONUMENT   OVKR   FOnEKATMERs'    llOCK., 
VLYMOITM. 


THE   COUHTSnil'   OF   MYLES   STANDISH. 


383 


This  accident,  which  to  many  socmod  a  warning,  so  dashed  the 
Sj^irit  of  tlio  actors,  that  thi;  procwHlings  wore;  near  coming  to  an 
abrupt  end  ;  but  some  quick-witted  spectator  liaving  declared  it 
to  presage  the  violent  sund<;ring  of  the  en![)ir(!  in  twain,  it  was 
accepted  as  a  good  omen,  the  upper  liall"  was  drawn  in  triumph 
to  the  open  space  i  frijiit  of  the  meetiiiu-house,  and  there  dc- 
jiosited,  at  the  foot  of  tlie  liberty-pole,  from  whieli  a  ilag  l)eariiig 
the  legend,  "  J.iberty  or  Death,"  was  Ihuig  to  the  lireeze.  And 
thus  the  rock  was  made  to  jday  an  active  jjart  in  tlie  great 
controversy. 

This  is  tlie  portion  of  Forefathers'  Jiock  that  so  many  tliou- 
sand  curious  pilgrims  liave  seen  lying  on  the  grass  plat  in  front 
of  Pilgrim  Hail;  while  a  monument,  Iniilt  in  tlie  form  of  a 
shrine,  enclosed,  at  the  edge  of  the  beacli,  the  original  spot 
wlience  it  was  talcen,  the  lowei-  fragment  of  the  roek,  and  the 
bones  that  a  pious  care  had  rec(jvered  i'rom  tlie  earliijst  hurial- 
place  of  the  Pilgrims,  hard  by  on  (Jole  Mill,  in  1S81,  after  a 
separation  of  one  hundred  and  six  years,  tlie  up|)er  half  was 
replaced  upon  the  lower.  What  Cod  has  joined  together  let 
no  man  put  asunder  ! 


THE   COURTSHIP   OF   MYLES   STANDISH. 


OF  all  our  New- England  legends,  one  of  the  most  popular,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  picturescpie,  is  the  story  of  the 
courtship  of  Myles  Standish,  which  is  the  subject  of  Longfellow's 
poem  of  that  name. 

Tlie  action  centres  in  three  persons.  First  there  is  the  mar- 
tial figure  of  the  redoubted  captain  of  Plymouth,  the  rude  but 
tried  soldier,  the  man  of  manly  virtues,  with  all  a  soldier's  con- 
tempt for  courtly  graces,  the  owner  of  a  noble  name  whicli  lie 
had  made  more  illustrious  by  his  deeds,' — brusipie,  quick-tem- 
pered, brave  to  rashness,  but  wearing  the  heart  of  a  lion  in  his 


I 


m  I 


384 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


lit      .1 


little,  uiidnisized  body,  though  his  hoad  might  sometimes  bo  hot 
ami  unsteady  in  council,  —  in  short,  a  man  to  be  admired,  feared, 
trusted,  but  not,  alas  !  always  lnvi'd,  nor  born  to  woo.  Such 
was  Myles  Standish,  th(!  Captain  of  I'lymiuith.  Though  dis- 
iniun'itod  by  fraud,  and  sclt'-cxih'd,  this  soldier  of  ibrtune  yet 
l)ossos.sed  a  title  to  distinction  tliat  elevates  him  upon  a  pedestal 
above  the  sober  and  industrious  artisans  with  whom  he  had 
loyally  cast  his  lot,  although  it  is  doubtful  if  he  belonged  to 
their  communion. 

To  this  hard  Puritan  soldier,  wliose  wife  had  died  during  the 


.'W^- 


^1 


#.- 


S^--"'""?W,  ^'i 


sTANoisn  nousE,  nuxnuuY. 

(ir.st  dreadful  winter  oi  their  pilgrimage,  enters  the  stripling 
John  Alden,  who  is  assertcnl  to  b(^  the  same  person  that  first 
leaped  upon  the  world-renowned  l{'>ek  when  thesi;  e.xiles  landed 
from  the  "Mayflower"  on  that  December  day.  He  was  only 
twe.nty-two  ;  but  in  the  eyes  of  two  persons,  at  least,  this  con- 
stituted no  defect.  These  persons  wen>  Priscilla  MuUins,  the 
Puritan  maiden,  an<l  Myles  Standish.  One  looked  upon  the 
youtli  with  a  smile  ;  the  other  with  a  sigh.  Family  tradition 
makes  this  youth  one  of  Standish's  household  ;  for  in  this  pa- 
triarchal  community,  over  which   the    spirit   of  economy  ruled 


H»  I 


TIIK    CdriiTSIIII'    OF    MVLES    STAXDISII. 


;i.s5 


suiiroine,  the  uiiinanid  mcimbers  wciv  sai^iiciously  joined  with 
some  laiiiily,  butli  lor  the  sake  .'I'  unity  ami  Ini  thr  .-(lual  tlis- 
trihiitioii  oC  work  and  -oods.  Thi-s  cdnstilutfd  oiu-  lar-i^  iamily 
(Ivi.k'd  intn  many.  In  .sonio  scnbe,  thcicloic,  Mylos  Standidi 
was  ihv  -uanliau  and  protector  of  Alden,  wh.mi  he  is  suid  to 
ha\'i'  loved  as  his  own  son. 

The  tliird  person,  (-(.uipletin- the  .uroup,  is  Priscilla,  lhedau,i;ii- 
t.Tol'  William  Mullins.  one  of  the  oriyinal  I'ilgrim  hand,  who 
had  died  within  two  months  after  the  landing,  leaving  her 
fatherless.  Theni  was  only  one  Priscilla,  and  there  wen^  two 
lovers. 

Kose  Standish,  the  lirst  wife,  having  died,  as  we  have  said, 
tlie  Captain  finding  his  loneliness  insupi)ortahIe,  the  lovely 
Triscilla  found  favor  in  his  eyes,  and  he  therefore  deterniineil  to 
install  her  as  the  mistress  of  his  heart  and  household.  lint  this 
lion  in  love,  who  had  so  often  faced  death  without  tliuehin.r 
wanting  (!oin-age  to  lay  lioth  at  a.  simple  maiden's  feet  in  his 
own  person,  made  choice  of  ,lohn  Alden,  ctf  all  others,  as  his 
envoy  in  this  delicate  negotiation.  11,  unfolded  his  purpose, 
and  gave  his  lio[)es  into  Alden's  k(;eping.  How  jnuch  this  dis- 
(ilosure  may  have  troubled  the  youth,  being  himself  a  victim  to 
the  lair  IMscilla's  charms,  yet  bound  in  honor  and  gratitude  to 
his  patron,  the  (:ai)tain,  is  easily  imagined.  He  had  been  asked 
to  go  and  declare  another  man's  passion  to  the  oljject  of  his 
own  heart's  desire, —  to  m'oo  her  for  another!  How  bitterly 
he  must  liave  bewailed  the  weakness  that  hail  prevented  his 
speaking  to  her  sooner,  and  had  now  thrust  him  into  this  awk- 
ward dilemma ! 

Loyal  still  to  his  friend  and  ]iatron,  though  pursued  all  the 
way  by  these  regrets,  he  took  the  well-known  path  to  l^riscilla's 
house,  steeling  himself  for  the  coming  interview.  Being  wel- 
comed, but  ill  at  ease,  he  first  asked  permission  to  urge  the  Cap- 
tain's suit.  The  damsel  was  then  called  into  the  room,  when 
tlie  young  man  rose  and  delivered  his  errand,— at  once  his 
renunciation  and  his  despair.  Knowing  as  we  do  his  feelings, 
we  may  pardon  liis  confusion,  as  doubtless  the  keen-eyed  Pris- 

25 


IF'  'T 


: 
J  I 
I     * 


»■■    I 


386 


NEW-ENGLAND  LEGENDS. 


(tillii  dill,  and  wo  may  excuse  the  way  in  which  lie  sttimiuered 
tlii'ough  his  speech,  every  syUable  of  which  i'  ''  *  "  ive  blistered 
his  toiiyue  in  giving  it  utterance. 

We  arc  no  true  interpreter  if  tlie  young  man's  mental  and 
moral  perplexity  is  not  the  key  to  the  blushing  Priscilla's  answer, 
which,  like  a  ray  of  suuslune  piercing  through  a  wintry  cloud, 
instantly  breaking  through  all  restraint,  turned  the  formality  and 
false  sentiment  tliat  Alden  had  fortiiied  himself  with,  inconti- 
nently out  of  doors. 

With  a  beating  heart  Priscilla  listened  to  his  plea  for  another. 
He,  poor  wretch  !  could  not  disguise  his  real  feedings  from  her, 
worn  as  they  were  upcju  his  sleeve;  and  nobly  did  she  come  to 
the  rescue.  What  a  wurld  of  archness,  of  tender  chiding,  and 
of  the  love  which  is  so  pure  that  it  knows  no  shame,  is  here 
revealed  ! 

"Prithee,  John,  why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself!" 

The  tradition  says  that  John  left  the  house  without  speaking, 
but  that  the  look  he  gave  Priscilla  spoke  for  him.  We  can  see 
his  dark  liguro  striding  homeward  through  the  Plymouth  wol/Is, 
and  wo  can  guess  something  of  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  tho 
young  man  contemplated  his  aiiproaching  interview  with  tho 
wrathful  little  Cai)tain.  It  is  indeed  said  —  and  here  family  tra- 
dition takes  an  issue  with  the  poi't — ^tliat  Myles  Standish  never 
forgave  his  ambassador  to  the  court  of  Hymen  for  thus  supplant- 
ing him  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  maiden  lierself  poured  balm 
into  the  wounded  spirit  of  the  youth,  by  giving  her  hand  where 
slie  had  already  given  her  heart.  And  from  these  twain  come 
all  of  the  name  of  Alden  in  the  Union. 


b-i!:ii 


So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden  went  on  his  errand  ; 
Crossing  the  brook  at  the  ford,  where  it  brawled  over  pebble  and 

shallow, 
Gathering  still,  as  he  went,  the  ^lay-flowers  blooming  around  him, 
Fragrant,  filling  the  air  with  a  strange  and  wnndorlul  sweetness, 
Children  lost  in  tlie  woods,  and  covered  with  leaves  in  their  slumber. 
"  Puritan  flowers,"  he  said,  "  and  the  type  of  Puritan  maidens, 


\v\\\ 


is 


M 


O 

ta 


b 
o 


o 


r. 
o 


o 
w 


;J88 


NEW-ENGLANU    LEGKNJ)S. 


Modest  iiiid  .sinip](!  and  swet't,  the  \ery  tvpe  of  Priccilla  I 
So  1  will  take  them  t"  her  ;  to  I'liscilla  tlie  May-llower  of  P]\'ii  onlh. 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  as  a  jiaitiii,y'  i^il'l  will  I  take  tliem  ; 
Breathing  their  silent  farewells,  as  they  fade  and  wither  ami  perish, 
Soon  to  be  thrown  away,  as  is  the  heart  of  the  ,L,'iver." 

Tlien,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  Ijeheld  the  form  ol'  the  maiden 
Seated  beside  her  wheel,  and  the  earded  wool  like  a  snow-(lriil 
Piled  at  her  knee,  ber  white  hands  f(*edinj,'  the  ravenous  s])indle, 
While  with  her  loot  on  tlie  treadle  she  guided  the  wheel  in  its  motion. 
Open  wide  on  her  lap  lay  the  wdl-woin  psalm-ljook  of  Ainsworth, 
Printed  in  Amsterdam,  the  words  and  the  music  together, 
Rough-hewn,  angular  notes,  like  st(jnes  in  the  wall  of  a  churchyard, 
Darkened  and  overhung  by  the  running  vine  of  the  verses. 


I 


So  he  entered  the  liou.?e  :  and  the  hum  of  the  wheel  and  the  singing 
Suddenly  ceased  ;  for  Priscilla,  aroused  l)y  his  step  on  tin-  tluesliold. 
Rose  as  be  entered,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  in  signal  of  welcome, 
Saying,  ''  1  knew  it  was  you,  when  1  heard  your  step  in  tlie  jiassage  ; 
For  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  I  sat  there  singing  and  "spinning." 


■  II ' 


Thus  he  delivered  bis  message,  the  dexterous  writer  of  letters,  — 
Did  not  embellish  tlie  theme,  nor  array  it  in  beautiful  plirases. 
But  came  straight  to  the  point,  and  blurted  it  out  like  a  school-boy  ; 
Even  the  Captain  himself  could  hardly  have  said  it  more  bluntly. 
Mute  with  amazement  and  sorrow,  Priscilla  the  Puritan  maiden 
Looked  into  Alden's  face,  her  I'ves  dilated  with  wonder, 
Feeling  his  words  like  a  blow,  that   stunned  her  and  rendered  her 

sjieechless  ; 
Till  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the  ominous  silence  : 
"  Tf  the  great  Captain  of  Plymouth  is  so  very  eager  to  wed  me. 
Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the  trouble  to  woo  nie  I 
If  I  am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I  surely  am  not  worth  the  winning  !  '• 


Still  John  Alden  went  on,  unheeding  the  words  of  Priscilla, 
Urging  the  suit  of  his  friend,  explaining,  persuading,  expanding. 


ii 


\fm 


Though  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly ;  she  knew  how  during  the 
winter 


THE    PILGRIM    FATIIEKS. 


389 


I'e  hail  ii1tcii(l(:(Ulic  sick,  willi  a  liaiid  as  <,'iTitl<!  as  woman's  ; 
^'oiiu'wliat  liasly'ai,  i  Ik.i,  Ik;  cuuld  not  deny  it,  and  lieadstron^', 
Stern  as  a  soldier  mi-lit  lie,  hut  huarty,  and  placahU;  always,  "' 
Not  to  he  laughed  at  and  scomod,  1)ec'au.se  he  was  little  oi'^staturt'  ; 
For  he  was  yreat  of  heart,  nia.nnaninious,  courtly,  courageous  ; 
Any  Avonian  in  I'lyniouth,  nay,  any  woman  in  Enj^dand, 
Might  ho  happy  and  pioud  to  l)e  called  the  wife  of  Miles  Standish  ! 

But  as  hi  warmed  and  -lowed,  in  liis  simple  and  ehxiueiit  language. 
Quite  forj,etful  of  self,  and  full  ol'  the  piaise  of  his  rival. 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overruninng  with  laughter, 
Said,  in   a   tremulous   voice,    '•  Why   don't  you  speak  for  youjself. 
John?" 


THE   PILGiilM   FATIIEKS. 

Our  fathers  crossed  the  ocean's  wave 

To  seek  this  shore  ; 
They  left  behind  the  coward  shive 
To  welter  in  his  living  grave. 
With  hearts  uidwut  and  s])irits  Imivc!, 

They  sternly  bore 
Such  toils  as  meaner  souls  had  (pielled  ; 
But  souls  like  these  such  toils  impelled 

To  soar. 


PERCrVAI,. 


The  Pilgrim  spirit  has  not  fled  : 

It  walks  in  noon's  broad  li'dit  : 
And  it  watches  the  bed  of  the  glorious  dead, 

With  the  holy  star.s,  by  night. 
It  watches  the  bed  of  the  brave  who  have  Ijlcd, 

And  shall  guard  this  ice-bound  shore. 
Till  the  waves  of  the  Bay  where  the  "  Mayflower  "  lay 

Shall  foam  and  freeze  no  more. 

PlKUPONT. 


Ifr*  if! 


W 


Ji: 


I  i 


390 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  st)il  where  first  lliey  trod  ; 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found,- 

Freedom  to  worship  God  ! 

IlEMANS. 


And  never  may  tlioy  rest  unsung, 
While  Liberty  can  find  a  tongue  ! 
Twine,  Gratitude,  a  wreath  lor  them 
More  deathless  than  the  diadem. 

Who  to  life's  noblest  end 
Gave  up  life's  nolilest  powers. 

And  Iwde  the  legacy  descend 

Down,  down  to  us  and  ours. 

Spkague. 


Patt  €lcbfntJ). 


RHODE-ISLAND    LEGENDS. 


fr* 


i  i! 

1  ; 

1  1 

•     ) 
ii 

m 


;ii 


i  ! 


THE   SKELETON    IN   AllMOl 


LONCFl'.l. LOW'S  l.;ill;ultil'"Tli(.  Skclrtui,  in  Ariiiur"  is  tlio 
k'gitiuiiitc  [(roiiuct  iit'  oik;  cit'  tlitisc  olisciire  traditions  which 
througli  t'ic([U('iit  rc]ictitinn,  iic(|uiiv  all  tlic  consistciicv  nl'  an- 
tlieiitic  facts;  yet,  like  utlici  illiusioiis,  (lisa[»|)i;ar  as  sdun  as  tliu 
liglit  is  turnoil  on  tlicni.  In  tlii.s  case  the  Scandinavian  tradition 
recounts  tlic  advtjnturous  voyages  of  the  twt)  Norse  corsairs,  Leif 
and  Tliorwald,  to  tlie  New  World  as  early  as  a.  i>.  1000.  Tiitiy 
arc  said  to  have  sailed  from  Iceland,  and  to  have  [(asscd  a  winter 
in  New  England. 

The  terms  of  these  sagas  are  so  and)i;;uoiis,  e\'en  should  they 
be  accounted  true  relations,  as  to  render  any  serious  attempt  to 
trace  tlie  voyages  they  narrate,  with  the  purpose  of  fitting  them 
to  our  own  coasts  or  harhors,  a  lost  labor.  That  Danish  anticjua- 
ries  would  be  deejily  interested  in  establishing  the,  validity  of  the 
elaini  on  the  part  of  their  countrymen  to  a  di.scovery  jireceding 
by  nearly  five  centuries  that  of  Colund)us,  was  only  natural  ;  for 
should  they  succeed  it  would  prove  the  most  brilliant  jewel  in 
the  crown  of  their  nation.  The  relations  themselves,  however, 
amounted  to  little  ;  and  without  stronger  evidence  the  reputable 
historian  would  probably  content  himself  merely  with  mention- 
ing them,  lie  would  certainly  hesitate  long,  and  examine  criti 
cally,  before  installing  the  vague  and  the  veritable  side  by  side. 


II 

t 

1 

\>' 

1 

'■It 
i 

i! 

1 

! 

39-i 


NKW-ENGLANl)   LF.UENDS. 


Should  ho  positively  dcchiri'  Aiiicricii  to  have  boon  discovnrod  by 
the  Noitiiineii  in  tht;  year  lOOO,  he  imist  lirst  withdraw  the 
aHsertioii  luudc  in  favor  of  the  illustrious  (Jenoeso  to  u  discovery 
in  ltl)2. 

Several  things  contributed  to  produce  in  the  public  mind  an 
effect  favorable  to  the  .Scandinavian  claim.    1'hc  most  important 


OLD   WINDMILL,   NEWrORT. 

of  tliesc  were  the  alleged  evidences  then  existing  of  an  occupa- 
tion of  the  country  by  the  Norse  voyagers  in  question.  Let  us 
run  over  them. 

There  was,  and  still  is,  at  Newport,  in  Pihodc  Island,  an  old 
windmill  of  peculiar,  and  for  New  England  unique,  construc- 
tion, which  Time  has  left  a  picturesque  ruin.  The  main  struc- 
ture, being  of  stone,  presents  the  appearance  of  a  round  tower 


I 


THE  SKELETON    IN    AUMOU. 


395 


thirty  feet  liip^li,  suppDrtcd  by  massive  stone  eoliimna,  also  romid  ; 
for  the  woodwork  liaviii;,'  lUllcii  iiway,  notliiiig  l)iit  tlu^  l)aro  walls 
ri'iiiaiii  to  idiMilit'y  its  ori^'iiial  f'onii  or  piirixiM'.  It  Htaiid.s  on  tlio 
lici^dits  overlooking  the  harbor;  find  until  'i'inie's  changes  hid  it 
IVoiii  view,  was  always  a  conspicuous  object  when  ihe  city  was 
approached  IVoni  the  sea.  This  structure  had  liccii  so  long  un- 
used, that  little  importance  need  lus  attached  U)  the  tact  that  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  (M'iginally  btnll  liad  gradually  died  out 
of  th(!  memory  of  th(!  oldest  inhuliitiUit.  The  natural  growth 
of  tlu!  town  was  certain  in  tiuK;  to  bring  this  result  about.  Its 
proper  functions  then  having  so  long  ccaseil,  no  one  regarded  it 
except  with  a  feeble  curiosity,  nor  was  there  even  a  local  tradi- 
tion concerning  it.  For  a  centr"y  and  a  half  it  had  stood  on 
the  same  spot  without  a  question  arising  as  to  its  origin  ;  it 
was  completely  ignored.  liut  at  length  .some  one  di.scovered  a 
resemblance  to  Scandinavian  architecture.  The  Danish  savans 
at  once  claimed  the  winilnuil  as  the  work  of  their  countrymen 
centuries  before  the  arrival  of  the  Englisli. 

There  was  also  on  the  shore  of  Taunton  River,  —  a  tidal 
stream  that  flows  into  Narragans(;tt  Bay,  and  might  therefore 
be  easily  ascended  by  an  exploring  vessel,  — a  moderately  largo 
bowlder,  one  face  of  which,  being  smooth,  was  completely  covered 
with  mysterious  hieroglyphics  which  no  one  had  been  able  to 
deci[)her.  The  strange  characters  had  originally  been  deeply 
cut  into  the  perpendicular  face  toward  the  channel;  but  in  the 
course  of  years,  and  owing  to  the  rock  itself  being  partly  sul> 
merged  at  high  tide,  the  continual  abrasion  of  water  and  ice  has 
nearly  obliterated  them  ;  so  that  it  is  now  scarcely  possible  to 
identify  these  marks  as  the  work  of  human  hands.  The  bowlder 
received  the  name  of  Dighton  Rock  becau.sc  the  shore  where  it  lay 
imbedded  was  within  tlu;  limits  of  the  town  of  Dighton.  Here 
now  was  a  veritable  relic  of  antiquity.  Uidike  the  windmill, 
this  had  always  Ix^en  the  subject  of  eager  curiosity  and  discus- 
sion, —  so  much  .so,  that  copies  of  the  inscription  had  been 
transmitted  by  Cotton  blather  to  the  learned  societies  of  London 
as  a  worthy  and  valuable  contribution  to  the  purposes  and  aims 


I 


u 


Hri 


Hill 


^1 


3'J6 


N i: W-K N ( ; L A M )    L KV, V. N 1  )&. 


of  ai'chtrological  rcsoiucli  ;  wliilc  the  wiiKliiiill,  notwitlistaiuling 
its  allcyud  j)t^L'iiliurity  of  cou.sti'uctioii,  and  tlu;  clear  prcbsiuiiiitioii 
that  it  luiif^t  have  lu'uii  a  most  ])oigiiaiit -spur  to  curiosity,  as  [>rov- 
ing  tho  resilience  hert;  of  Kuro[)eans  so  long  ago,  was  not  thought 
to  be  worthy  of  a  single  word,  and  no  one  of  the  thousands  to 
wh(jin  it  was  a  familiar  ol.ject  so  much  as  hinted  that  it  had  any 
title  to  such  consideration.  The  sculpturetl  rock  remained,  how- 
ever, an  unsolved  enigma.  A  vagut^  local  trailitioii  oidy  leii- 
dered  it  all  the  more  perplexing.  It  is  true  that  many  who 
were  ac(piainted  with  their  rude  commemorative,  drawings, 
which  those  of  the  rock  greatly  resembh'd,  believed  tliat  tho 
Indians  liad  at  some  time  cut  the  unknnwn  characters.  This 
very  natural  solution  of  the  mystery  became  the  subject  of  e(jn- 
troversy.  The  Danish  antiijuaries,  better  instructed,  immedi- 
ately declared  Dighton  Rock  to  bt;  the  im[)erishable  recort]  of 
the  a<lventurous  voyages  of  ibcir  ciuintryuien, 

Still  audther  thing,  most  op]>nrtuni'ly  nccurring,  by  investing 
it  with  the  glamour  of  romance,  scnu'ed  f(]r  the  new  theory  a 
certain  an.iount  of  sympathy,  —  thus  giving  it  a  strength  of  a 
wholly  dillerent  kind  in  the  popular  mind.  Hitherto  the  new 
idea  had  taken  less  with  the  general  public  than  with  scholars; 
the  materials  were  now  found  for  a  verital)le  con/)  ilc  thedtre. 

There  was  exhumed  at  Fall  Uivei'  the  skidetoii  of  a  man 
whose  l)reast  —  whether  for  oi'iiament  or  defence  is  uncertain  — 
was  protected  l)y  an  oval  plate  of  lirass,  and  on  whose  fleshless 
thighs  still  loosely  hung  a  belt  of  curious  workmanship,  made  of 
hollow  tubes  of  Itrass  much  corroded,  and  lifted  together  in  the 
manner  of  the  bandoliers  worn  when  lirearms  were  in  their  in- 
fancy. There  were  also  found  lying  near  the  skeleton  somo 
arrow-heads  made  of  the  same  metal.  It  is  true  that  tho  l)ody 
had  l)een  l)uried  in  a  sitting  jtosture,  with  its  arms  and  orna- 
ments, agreeable  to  the  funeral  customs  of  the  In<lians  of  this 
coast.  It  is  also  true  tluit  i'rom  tho  voyages  of  the  Cabots  down 
to  tho  coming  in  of  tho  English  settlers  here,  the  possession  of 
copper  ornaments,  and  even  weapons  of  war,  by  tho  Indians,  was 
a  fact  constantly  repeated.      Kven  tlie  chains  and  collars,  one  of 


THE   SKELETON    IN    AKMOK. 


397 


which  was  worn  by  the  skeleton,  liad  been  exactly  ami  minutely 
described  in  some  of  the  Holatioiis  printed  by  Ilaklnyl.  P.ut 
the  sagas  had  said  that  'i'hurwald,  the  Norse  rover-ehief,  was 
slain  in  an  encounter  with  the  natives,  and  had  been  hastily 
interred  near  the  sjuil  where  he  fell.  The  breastplate  and 
arrows  were  said  to  l)e  identical  with  those  in  use  among  the 
Hcamiinavians  of  tliis  ancient 
penoii.  To  the  silent  evi- 
dence of  the  mill  and  to  the 
tesiinidiy  of  the  rock  was 
now  ji lined  that  of  a  supposed 
Norse  waniur  in  his  armor. 
The  iJanish  scholars  unhesi- 
tatingly ado[ited  the  skeleton. 

The  case  as  it  now  stood 
may  he  Ijiicfly  summed  up 
thus.  A  building  .saiil  to  bo 
of  a  constructinn  similar  to  the 
most  ancient  ones  in  the  Scan- 
dinavian   peninsula,  —  in   fact 

not  dating  later  than  the  twelfth  (;entury,  -'•LMtainly  uidike  any- 
thing of  Dritish  aivhilectiiiv,  had  been  found  ;  a  rock  inscribed 
with  Hunir  diaracters,  —  for  the  Danish  scholars  (-laimed  to 
dec'ipher  ]iortioiis  of  its  inscripti<in,  —  had  been  discovered;  a 
skeleton  wearing  armor  of  t\n)  kind  used  l)y  Norse  warriors  bad 
beet)  disiid,erred, — and  these  things  existed  within  such  neigli- 
borliood  to  each  other  as  to  constitutes  a  chain  of  evidence  strong 
in  itself,  strengtheiH'il  ])y  probability,  and  further  supported  by 
the  very  general  i'eeling  in  its  favor,  that  they  were  tlie  work 
or  the  remains  of  the  adventurous  sea-rovers  of  the  North.  To 
such  an  array,  presenteil  with  such  authority  and  Avith  so  much 
confidence,  it  is  no  wonder  tliat  the  .sceptical  at  iirst  hardly 
knew  what  to  answer. 

But  each  and  every  one  of  these  pieces  of  evidence  has  been 
fully  disproved.  It  has  been  shown  that  tlu;  Newport  yill  was 
of  a  similar  build  to  tiiose  erected  in  .some  parts  of  England, — 


TUK    SKKLETON    IN    ARMOR. 


r 


398 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


\ll 


Hi 


Mm    I 


nutably  like  one  at  Chesterton.  The  settlors,  therefore,  built  after 
known  British  models.  The  attenii)t  tu  convert  the  cliaracters 
of  l)ighton  Rock  into  llunic,  ov  even  into  an  intdligihle  historic 
record  of  any  kiml,  signally  failed  to  convince  either  learned 
or  unlearned.  And  lastly,  the  metal  found  upon  the  skeleton 
turned  out  to  be  ilill'erent  from  that  used  for  warlike  purposes 
by  the  anci(!nt  Scandinavians.  To  this  the  direct  evidence  that 
a  wiudinill  was  erected  on  the  very  spot  where  the  ruin  now 
stands;  that  Governor  Arnold  mentions  it  in  his  will  ;  that  the 
way  leading  to  it  is  still  called  Mill  iStreet ;  and  that  it  was 
eonnuiudy  known  as  a  windmill  and  nothing  elsr,  — would  seem 
finally  to  dispose  of  what  was  left  of  tiie  Xorthnien's  antique 
tower,  and  to  leave  it  the  simple  and  strikiug  memorial  of  the 
forefatlu.'rs  that  it  undoubtedly  is.  This  wliole  controversy  may 
he  said  signally  to  demonstrate  the  ease  with  which  any  histori- 
cal fact  may  be  perverted  or  unsettled. 

In  a  note  to  his  "Skeleton  in  Armor,"  Mr.  Longfellow  says 
that  he  considers  the  tradition  sufliciently  established  for  the 
purpose  of  a  ballad.  Voi/i"!  (out  !  But  he  very  naively  adds 
what  few  will  now  be  found  willing  to  dispute,  that,  '"doubtless 
many  an  honest  citizen  of  Newport,  who  has  passeil  his  days 
within  sight  of  the  round  tower,  will  be  ready  to  exclaim,  with 
Sancho  :  'God  bless  me!  did  I  \w\,  warn  you  to  have  a  care  what 
you  were  doing,  for  that  it  was  nothing  but  a  windmill ;  and  no- 
body couhl  mistake  it  but  one  who  had  the  like  in  his  head.' " 

In  the  ballad  the  Viking's  ghost  is  supposed  to  appear  to  the. 
poet,  and  is  exhorted  to  tell  him  his  story.  One  instinctively 
recalls  Hamlet's  midnight  collo([uy  on  the  platform  of  the  castle 
at  Elsinore :  — 

Speak  !  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest  ! 

Who,  with  thy  iiollow  breast 

Still  in  rude  armor  divst, 
Comest  to  daunt  nu; ! 

Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 

But  with  thy  lleshless  palms 

Stretched,  .as  if  asking  alms, 
Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  ? 


THE   SKELETON    IN    AliMOli.  399 

And  the  grisly  corse  rei)lios  :  — 

I  was  a  Viking  old  I 

My  deeds,  tlioiigli  inaiiifold, 

No  ykuld  ill  .sung  has  told, 

No  Saga  lauglit  thee! 
Taku  heed,  tliaL  in  thy  verse 
TLoii  dorit  tlie  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse  ; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

The  weird  tale  proceeds  without  further  regard  to  the  legend 
as  it  is  told  in  the  sagas.  The  rude  corsair  wins  the  love  of  a 
gentle  maiden,  — a  prince's  child,  — somewhat  in  the  manner  of 
Othello,  by  telling  lier  the  story  of  his  deeds  :  — 

Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 

r.undng  yet  tender  ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  sliine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  nune 

Fell  their  full  sjjlendor. 

Then  the  Viking,  having  persuaded  tlie  old  Tlildebrand's 
daughter  to  fly  with  him,  is  hotly  pursucid  by  the  incensed 
father  "with  seventy  horsemen."  He  puts  to  sea  in  his  vessel, 
and  is  followed  by  llildebrand  in  anothei',  when  the  catastroplie 
that  makes  him  an  outcast  occurs  :  — 


And  as  to  oatcli  tlie  gale 
Round  veered  tlie  flaiiping  sail. 
Death  !  was  the  helinsm.  n's  hail, 

Death  without  quarter ' 
Mid-sliips  witli  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel  ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water  ! 


400 


NEW-EiNCLANI)    LECENDS. 


I     I    * 


II  i 


r;f'i 


; ,    r 


After  lliis  the  outlaw  wlio  lias  carried  oil'  tlio  daughter,  and 
liaa  slain  the  father  before  her  eyes,  steers  into  the  open  and 
unknown  sea.  The  stanza  introdueing  tlu'  muud  tower  is  as 
follows :  — 

Three  weeks  we  westward  Ijoie  ; 
And  when  tlit!  stDnu  was  oVt, 
Cloud-like,  we  saw  tlic  shore 

Stictcliing  to  lecwaid  ; 
There  loi'  my  lady's  bower 
liuill  I  the  lofty  tower 
Which,  to  this  very  hour. 

Stands  looking  seaward. 

Hero  tlie  hawk  and  the,  dove  dwelt  until  a  child  was  horn  to 
them  ;  hut  the  maiden  sickenetl ;  and  at  length,  as  the  ballad 
tells  ns,  — 

Death  closed  lier  iiiihl  lilui;  eyes  : 
Under  that  tower  siie  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 
Ou  such  allot  iier! 

In  despair,  the  Viking  puts  on  his  armor  and  falls  upon  his 
spear,  —  the  poet  thus  accounting  for  the  skeleton  in  armor  by  a 
stroko!  of  genius,  as  he  does  for  the  tower  by  a  touch  of  human- 
ity ;  so  that  it  is  not  strange  to  liiid  people  saying  they  would 
rather  believe  in  the  legend  than  not. 

But  Mr.  L(U)gfellow  was  not  the  lirst  poet  to  discover  the  capa- 
bilities of  the  old  mill  for  a  poem.  The  poet  Ihainard  makes  it 
tiie  subject  of  an  Indian  tradition  to  the  ellect  that  its  perishing 
walls  were  typical  of  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the  Jled  Man 
in  the  home  of  his  fathers,  and  that  its  final  fall  would  signal- 
ize the  total  extin(;tion  of  his  race.  His  is  the  earliest  poetical 
use  of  the  tower  that  the  writer  has  seen. 


THE    NEWPORT    TOWER. 


401 


THE   NEWPOIiT   TOWER. 

J.    G.    BHAIXARD. 

There  is  a  nule  old  iiiomnnent, 
Hall'  iiiasoiiry,  hull'  ruin,  Ijout 
With  .sagging  weight,  a^  if  it  iiieuut 

To  warn  one  of  mischance ; 
And  au  old  Indian  may  he  seen 
Musing  in  sadness  on  the  scene. 
And  casting  on  it  many  a  keen 

And  many  a  thoughtful  glance. 

When  lightly  sweeps  the  evening  tide 
Old  Xarragansett's  shore  heside. 
And  tlie  canoes  in  safety  ride 

Upon  the  lovely  bay,  — 
I  've  seen  him  gaze  on  that  old  tower, 
At  ev(!iiing's  calm  and  pensive  In  air  ; 
And  when  the  night  began  to  lower, 

Scarce  tear  himself  uwav. 


But  once  he  turned  with  furious  look, 
While  Jiigh  his  clenched  hand  he  sliouk, 
And  from  his  brow  his  dark  eye  took 

A  reddening  glow  of  madness  ; 
Yet  when  I  told  him  why  I  came, 
His  wild  and  bloodshot  eye  grew  tame. 
Ami  \nt:^v  thoughts  passed  o'er  its  Hame 

That  changed  its  rage  t(j  sadness. 

"You  watch  my  stej),  and  ask  me  why 
This  ruin  lills  my  straining  eye. 
Stranger,  there  is  a  i)rophecy 

Which  you  may  lightly  heed  : 
Stay  its  fulhlmenl  if  you  can  : 
I  heard  it  of  a  gray-haired  man ; 
And  thus  the  threatening  story  ran,  — 

A  boding  tale  indeed. 
26 


ir- 


111 


402  NEW-ENOLANn   LEGENDS. 

*'He  said  tluit  when  this  massy  wall 
Down  to  its  very  haso  should  lall, 
Aiul  not  one  stone  anion^  it  all 

Be  left  upon  another, 
Then  hIiouUI  the  Indian  race,  and  kind 
Disperse  like  the  returnless  wind, 
And  no  red  man  be  left  to  find 

One  he  could  call  a  brother. 

"  Now  yon  old  tower  is  falling  fast : 
Kindred  and  friends  away  are  passed  ; 
Oh !  that  my  father's  soul  may  cast 

Upon  my  grave  its  shade, 
When  some  good  riirislian  man  shall  place 
O'er  me,  the  last  of  all  my  race, 
The  last  old  stone  that  falls,  to  grace 

The  spot  whore  I  am  laid  !  " 

Mrs.  Sigourney,  following  Longfellow,  has  also  addressed  some 
characteristic  lines  to  its  gray  walls  in  a  half  serious,  half  play- 
ful vein.  She,  too,  believed  it  to  bo  a  veritable  relic  of  the 
Northmen.  But  the  iioets,  it  should  be  said,  are  much  too  sus- 
ceptible to  the  charm  of  romance  to  be  intrusted  with  making 
history. 

THE   NEWPORT   TOWER. 

MRS.    T-.    II.    SIGOUnNEY. 

Dark,  lonely  Tower,  amid  yon  Eden-isle, 
Which,  as  a  gem,  fair  Narragansett  wears 
Upon  her  heaving  breast,  thou  lift'st  thy  head, 
A.  mystery  and  paradox,  to  mock 
The  curious  throng. 

Ray,  reared  the  plundering  hand 
Of  the  fierce  buccaneer  thy  massy  walls, 
A  treasure-fortress  for  his  blood-stained  gold  ? 
Or  wrought  the  beings  of  an  earlier  race 
To  form  thy  circle,  while  in  wonder  giized 
The  painted  Indian  ? 


IILOCK    ISLAND. 


403 


AVe  yoe  thou  art 
A  right  sub.stantiitl,  wcU-prcsciviMl  old  tower,  — 
Let  tluit  .sullict!  U.S. 

Some  liuMc  an;  who  say 
Thou  wert  an  ancient  windmill. 

Be  it  .so  ! 
Our  Pilgriiu-sircs  niu.st  have  been  uuieh  in  love 
With  extra  labor,  thus  to  gather  stones. 
And  patient  rear  thy  Scandinavian  arch, 
And  build  thine  ample  chamber,  and  uplift 
Thy  shapely  colunui,  for  the  gadding  \vind.s 
To  play  vagaries  with. 

In  tliose  hard  times 
I  trow  King  I'liilip  gave  tliem  other  work 
Than  to  deck  dancing-halls,  ami  lure  the  blasts 
From  old  Eolus'  cave. 

IFad'st  thou  the  power, 
I  think  thou'dst  laugh  right  lieartily  to  see 
The  worthy  fanners,  with  tlieir  sacks  of  corn, 
Mistaking  thy  profession,  as  of  old 
Don  Quixote  diil  mistake  thine  ancestor. — 
If  haply  such  j^rogenitor  thou  hadst. 


BLOCK     ISLAND. 


TlIK  introduction  to  Dana'.s  celebrated  narrative  poem, 
"  The  Biiccanoer,"  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  descrij)tivc  writ- 
ing, that  stands  out  in  strong  relief  against  the  dark  legend  upon 
which  it  ca.sts  a  solitary  ray  of  sunshine. 

THK    ISLAND. 

The  island  lies  nine  leagues  away. 

Along  its  solitary  shoiv. 
Of  craggy  rock  and  sandy  bay, 
No  sound  but  ocean's  roar, 
Rave  where  the  hold,  wild  sea-bird  makes  her  home. 
Her  shrill  cry  coming  through  the  sparkling  foam. 


1. 1 


(1 1 1 


404  NEW-ENGLANU   LlXiE^' 

But  when  the  light  -wiiHls  lie  x, 

And  on  the  ghissy,  heiiviiig  sea, 
The  bhick  (IulU,  with  her  glossy  breast, 
Sits  swinging  silently, 
How  beautiful !     No  rii)i)lus  break  the  reach, 
And  silvery  waves  go  noiseless  up  the  beach. 

And  inland  rests  the  green,  warm  dell ; 

The  brook  comes  tinkling  down  its  side  ; 
From  out  the  trees  the  Sabbath  bell 
Rings  cheerful,  far  and  wide, 
Mingling  its  sounds  with  bleatiugs  of  the  flocks 
That  feed  about  the  vale  amongst  the  rocks. 

Nor  holy  bell  nor  pastoral  bleat 

In  former  days  witliin  the  vale  ; 
Flapped  in  the  bay  the  pirate's  sheet; 
Curses  were  on  the  gale  ; 
Rich  goods  lay  on  the  sand,  and  murdered  men  : 
Pirate  and  wrecker  kept  their  revels  then. 


M 


III  I 


The  island  merits  a  further  word  of  description.  It  is  a  bank 
of  clay,  treeless  and  wind-swept,  eight  miles  long,  rising  out  of 
the  oceuu  between  Montauk  and  Gay  Head,  and  lying  nearest 
to  Point  Judith,  on  tlio  lihode-Island  shore,  from  which  it  is 
about  live  miles  distant.  Planted,  as  it  is,  right  athwart  the 
highway  of  a  vast  and  increasing  commerce,  it  is  a  veritable 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  the  anxious  navigator.  In  clear 
weather  its  brilliant  light  cheers  the  grateful  mariner  on  his 
voyage  with  its  signal  of  "  All 's  well,  and  a  lino  night ! "  till 
it  sinks  or  fades  from  his  view. 

We  know  that  a  tribe  of  the  once  powerful  and  warlike  Nar- 
ragansetts  poss(!Ssed  and  inhabited  this  sea-girt  isle,  to  which 
their  fathers  gave  the  euphonious  name  of  Manisses.  But  pow- 
erful and  warlike  as  they  were,  they  were  also  a  race  of  plunder- 
ers, having  the  lawless  traits  common  to  islanders  everywhere ; 
so  that,  as  early  as  the  infancy  of  the  white  settlements  in  Mass- 
achusetts Bay,  their  thieving  i^ropensities  brought  down  u])on 


BLOCK    ISLAND. 


4or. 


them  the  vongoanco  of  tho  wliitcs,  who  niado  an  arniod  descent 
upon  the  island  with  the  saM^niiiiaiy  piu'iKise  of  exterminating 
every  warrior  upon  it.  Before  the  wars,  of  wliieli  this  is  a  mere 
episode,  were  over,  the  island  passed  forever  from  the  ownership 
of  these  Indians,  who  liad  fled  from  it  in  terror,  into  that  of  their 
enemies,  —  first  taking  a  civilized  name  from  tho  Duteh   sailor 


ANCIENT    WINDMIIJ, 


Adrian  Block,  and  snbs(^quently  that  of  Xew  Shoreham,  which 
the  township  still  retains. 

Then  l)cgan  the  gradual  peoiding  of  the  island  under  the  rule 
of  a  new  race,  and  a  development,  sometimes  checked  by  the 
wars,  but  tending  slowly  toward  an  improved  condition.  It 
being  first  available  for  pasturage,  the  islanders  Averc  mostly  far- 
mers, who  raised  cattle,  sheep,  and  poultry,  which  they  exported 
to  the  mainland.     Tillage  gradually  superseded  this.     The  farms 


>-r 


Wd 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


f  I 


aro  still  produotivo,  ami  tlio  iiiliaMtants,  contrary  to  tho  gcnenvl 
hi'llcf,  j^'ct  tlit'ir  living'  cliiclly  hy  the  .soil. 

'I'liose  who  wcrtj  not  l'iiriiK'r.s  wltii  fislieriiR'ii.  Tliu  .suas  arouiul 
the  island  teemed  with  the  eod,  the  niiickiMid,  and  the  blue  lish, 
besides  other  valuable  .species,  —  thus  furnishing  sul)sistenee  to 
another  class,  who  toiled  with  net  and  line,  and  who  built  tln'ir 
rude  cabins  and  Hakes  by  the  .shore.  l!ut  the  island  having  no 
gdixl  harbor,  lishing  and  trading  went  on  by  l)oats  in  the  oM 
[)riniitiv(!  way. 

Somehow,  the  reputation  o|'  the  island  was  never  good.  .Sail- 
ors always  shook  their  beads  when  they  spoke  of  Block  Island. 
A  bail  lee  shore,  a  place  of  no  good  hap  for  th(!  uiducky  mariner 
who  might  be  driven  upon  it,  were  jjrevailing  notions,  —  and 
lirmly  I'ooted  ones,  —  which  dark  hints,  and  still  darker  tradi- 
tions, concerning  shi[)wrecked  crews  and  valuable  cargoes,  give 
a  certain  color  ami  consistency.  "  1  would  rather  be  wrecked 
anywhere  ilian  upon  l)lo('k  Island,"  became  a  common  and  sig- 
iiilicant  saying  in  the  forecasth^  or  the  midnight  watch,  when 
the  dark  mass  of  tlu;  islantl  heaved  in  sight.  Ihit  all  this  refers 
to  long  ago  ;  for  though  tlu're  are  still  wreckers,  —  and  they  are 
universally  hekl  by  sailors  to  be  but  one  remove  from  pirates, — 
their  work  now  proceeds  with  som(!  regard  for  the  saving  of  life 
and  the  lawful  claims  of  the  owners.  In  "  the  good  old  tim(\s" 
the  wreckers  stri[)ped  a  ship,  and  divided  her  cargo  u])on  the 
principle  that  to  the  tinders  belongs  the  spoil.  "Everything  is 
lish,"  .said  they,  "that  comes  to  our  net." 

Like  all  islanders,  these  2>oople  were  generally  hardy,  sober, 
and  industriou.s.  But  a  dill'erence  is  to  be  observed  between  tin- 
farmers  and  the  lishennen, — a  name  often  .synonymous  with 
that  of  wreckers  or  smugglers.  So  isolated  were  they  from  tli(5 
rest  of  the  world,  that  the  intermarriage  of  vhose  more  or  le.ss 
related  by  blooil  was  a  thing  of  con,vnon  occurrence.  Tho 
result  was  naturally  unfavorable  to  th(!  physical  condition  of 
tho  islanders.  Indeed,  one  instance  is  mentioned  of  a  woman 
who  left  three  deaf-and-dund)  sons  at  her  death. 

Dana's    "Buccaneers"    and    Whittier's    "PalatiiKi"    are    the 


BLOCK    ISLAND. 


407 


k!fj;i*iiii!it(!  outcdiiu!  of  a  stiito  of  tilings  which  so  natiinilly 
ttllbrds  materials  fur  roiiianuu  ;  and  both  are  also  the  outyrowth 
of  a  singular  li^gi.'nd,  whose,  very  obscurity  lends  it  a  weird 
fascination. 

Some  time  during  the  last  century  —  even  the  year  is  unc(!r- 
tain  —  an  emigrant  ship  bound  for  Philadel[)hia  came  upon  the 
American  coast,  only  to  l)e  driven  oil'  to  si'a  again  by  stress  of 
weather.  The  emigrants  were  sulistantial  and  tliril'ty  Uulch 
people  of  the  better  class,  who  had  liroughl  all  their  property 
along  with  them  to  their  new  home,  whither  many  of  their  coun- 
trymen had  preceded  them.  .Some  of  them  are  even  alleged 
to  have  been  wealthy.  It  was  in  the  dark  and  dreary  season 
of  midwinter,  when  the  voyage,  already  long,  was  thus  disas- 
trously lengthened.  With  the  coast  in  sight,  but  unable  to  gain 
her  port,  the  ship,  Ijulleling  the  frozen  .seas,  was  driven  north- 
ward far  out  of  her  course  ;  wliile  scenes  wi're  being  enacted  on 
board,  the  bare  thought  <:)f  which  makes  the  blood  run  cold. 
The  captain  had  died,  or  had  ln'cii  iuurdereil,  at  sea,  before  the 
vessel  came  in  sight  of  the  land.  All  discipline  was  at  an  end  ; 
and  the  ship's  crew  then  began  a  system  of  cold-blooded  rob- 
bery, tt)  which  the  act  of  l)old'y  hoisting  the  black  Hag  and 
of  cutting  the  throats  of  their  miseralile  victims  would  have 
Ijeeu  nu;rcy  indeed.  The  wretches  armed  themselves  ;  and 
having  taken  possession  of  the  water  and  provisions,  with  a 
refined  cruelty  demanded  from  the  famishing  emigrants  twenty 
guilders  for  a  cup  of  water,  and  hfty  rix-dollars  for  a  biscuit. 
To  save  their  lives  the  poor  passengers  were  obliged  to  beggar 
theuLselves.  Those  who  could  not  or  would  not  comply  with 
the  atrocious  demand  were  allowed  to  starve,  and  their  ema- 
ciated boilies  weie  coolly  thrown  into  the  sea.  The  ship  soon 
became  a  iloating  hell.  Having  plundered  their  victims  of 
everything  that  they  possessed  of  value,  the  inhuman  crew 
linally  took  to  the  boats  ;  and  deserting  the  stricken  ship,  they 
left  her  to  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves.  With  no  one 
left  on  board  to  navigate  her,  the  doomed  ship  drifted  on. 
Days  of  despair  were  succeeded  by  nights  of  horror.     She  was 


408 


NEW-EN(iLANlJ   LKCENDS. 


i      ■' 


'    I 


now  a  madliousp,  tenanted  only  \>y  maniacs  nr  tlie  unburi(Ml 
corpses  of  those  wlio  lia<l  tlieil   from   luiiiine  or  disease. 

One  ealm  Sahbatli  niornin;^'  the  "  Palatine"  stniek  on  the  north- 
erniMost  reef  of  lllnek  island.  Hut  her  v()ya,L;e  wa.--  not  to  end 
licre.  'I'lie  wToekors  manned  tiieir  lioats  and  humanely  rescued 
all  those  who  had  survived  starvation,  exeept  one  woman,  who 
had  f^'une  stark  mad,  and  who  now  refuseil  to  leave  the  wreck. 

The  ship,  having  only  touehed  the  reef,  floated  off  a;^'ain  with 
tlio  rising  tide  ;  an<l  the  wreckers,  who  surrounded  the  grimy  hulk 
like  vultures  the  carcass  of  a  noble  stag,  imw  making  their  hoats 
fast  to  it,  towed  lu'r  into  a  neighboring  eove,  in  diiler  that  they 
might  dismantle  her  at  their  leisure.  Ihit  bel'nre  this  could  bo 
done  a  gale  sprang  up;  when  the  wreckers,  seeing  that  the  sliij), 
in  spite  of  their  elforts,  woidd  be  blown  olf  to  .sea,  set  lier  on 
fire;  and  she  was  soon  in  llauics. 

Enveloped  in  lire  from  truck  to  deck,  the  "  I'alatine"  drove  out 
into  the  thickening  darkness  of  a  stormy  sea, —  an  object  of  dread 
even  to  those  who  had  so  recklessly  aj^plicul  the  torch.  J'ut  this 
feeling  was  turned  to  deeper  horror  when  the  frenzied  shrieks 
borne  to  their  ears  from  the  burning  .ship  told  the  lookers-on 
that  a  human  being  was  perishing  miserably  in  the  llames  before 
their  eyes. 

These  a])palling  sounds  were  supposed  to  proceed  from  the 
maniac  woman,  who  had  been  forgotten  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moUK.'iit.  The  "  Palatine "  drifted  away,  and  burned  to 
the  water's  edge.  And  so  ends  the  dismiil  tale  of  the  actual 
ship. 

But  it  is  now  averred  that  on  that  very  niglit  twelvemonth, 
the  anniversary  of  the  same  storm,  the  islanders  were  alfrighted 
by  the  startling  and  oublime  spectacle  of  a  ship  on  fire  in  the  oil- 
ing, which,  as  the  gale  rose,  drifted  before  it,  and  gradually  faded 
from  their  sight,  exactly  as  the  ill-fated  "Palatine"  had  done. 
Year  after  year  the  same  strange  sight  continued  to  keep  the  fate 
of  the  "Palatine"  fresh  in  tiie  memory  of  every  man,  w-oman,  and 
child  upon  the  island.  Hundreds  had  seen  it ;  and  all  were  fully 
convinced  that  this  annual  visitation  was  a  portent  of  disaster  to 


THE   BUCCANKHK. 


401) 


thorn  and  tlioirs.  Some  of  thn  l)cttf'r-infnrnio(l  wore,  it  is  true, 
inclined  to  (dnss  tho  pliaiitasni  of  the  Imrnini,'  ship  with  atmos- 
piinit'  phcnonicnii  ;  Imt  the  isiundci's  only  slim >,';,'( 'd  their  slmul- 
ders  iis  tlicy  ix'inteil  to  the  unerriiif,'  eertainty  with  which  it 
mippnared,  the  faithfulnoss  with  which  every  detail  of  tlie  cnn- 
flaj^'ration  repeated  itself,  and  the  niysterious  way  in  which  tlio 
vessel  first  came  on  shore. 


Till".   BUCCANKKi:. 

Dana'h  tragic  story  of  the  "  lluccaneer"  would  liardly  he 
recognized  for  the  same  that  we  have  related,  Avere  not  its 
leading  incidents  firmly  associatcul  with  I'.lock  Island.  ITe 
niak(!S  Leo,  the  "hnccaneer"  of  the  poem,  iiativi!  liere.  Lee  i.s 
a  man  fitted  hy  nature  for  leadership  in  a  career  of  crime,  —  a 
monster  from  wliom  w(^  turn  in  alihoricnco,  and  for  whose  e\il 
destiny  even  the  poet's  art  can  hardly  make  us  feel  one  loudi  nf 
compassion.  The  graudeur  of  the  design  of  the  jioem  is  in  fact 
marred  hy  the  hideousness  of  the  central  iigure.  Lee  is  a  wretch 
without  one  redeeming  trait,  —  he  is  simply  a  cutthroat. 

The  poem  opens  with  Lee's  ship  lying  in  a  port  of  Spain.  He 
has  grown  weary  of  the  life  of  a  ])eaceful  trader,  and  has  re- 
solved to  turn  pirate.  While  the  ves.sel  is  Ixnng  rejitted  for  sea 
a  Spanish  lady  seeks  a  passage  in  her  to  America.  Her  hushand 
has  fallen  in  the  wars,  and  she  is  scarcely  wedded  hefore  she  is 
a  widow  and  an  exile  from  her  native  land.  Lee  receives  her 
with  well-affected  sympathy,  and  tenders  her  a  jiassagc  in  his 
ship.  The  hereaved  lady  unsuspectingly  jmts  herself,  her  at- 
tendants, and  all  that  she  possesses  in  the  coi.sair's  jiower.  Her 
rich  jewels  and  her  gold  inflame  the  rapacity  of  Lee, — who, 
however,  is  crafty  enough  to  hide  his  time.  The  Sehora  has  a 
strange  attachment  for  a  favorite  milk-white  Arabian  horse  :  this 
too  is  brought  on  hoard,  and  then  the  ship  sets  sail.  She  is 
no  sooner  out  of  .sight  of  land,  than  the  crew,  at  a  signal  from 
Leo,  stab  the  lady's  servants  in  llioir  sleep.  They  then,  with 
a  deadlier  purpose,  break  into  her  cabin  :  — 


M 


'Iff 


m 


i;«i 


^'IH 


II I 


:ii^i    ' 


!l! 


I    1! 


410  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Acrusli!     Tlicy  force  the  door  ;  uiul  then 

Oiiu  Ion;,',  loiii,',  .slirill,  aiul  piercing  sci'eam 
Coine.s  Uirillini,'   l)ove  the  growl  ol'  men  ! 
'T  is  liers  !  O  God,  ledeeni 
From  worse  than  deatli  thy  Hutl'ering,  helplcsH  child  ! 
That  dreadful  shriek  again,  — sharp,  sharp  and  wild  ! 

It  ceased  :  with  si)eed  o'  tli'  lightning's  Hash 
A  loose-robed  form,  with  streanung  iiair, 
Shoots  hy  ;   a  leap,  — u  (piii  L,  short  sjjlash  ! 
'T  is  gone!  and  nothing  there! 
The  waves  have  swept  away  the  hublding  tide,  — 
Bright-crested  waves,  how  cuhnly  on  they  ride ! 

Witii  a  Itnital  je.st  on  his  lips,  J.ee  then  orders  tlie  horse  to  be 
thrown  alive  into  the,  sea  ;  the  men  obey. 

.Such  sound  to  mortal  far  ne'er  came 
As  rang  lar  o'er  the  waters  wide  ; 
It  shook  with  l\'ny  the  stoutest  I'rame, — 
The  horse  is  mi  liir  tide  ! 
As  the  waves  leave,  or  lilt  him  uj),  his  cry 
Conies  lowtu'  now,  and  now  is  near  and  high. 

The  ill-fated  lady's  gold  is  then  divided  ;  but  a  quarrel  spring- 
ing up  over  it,  Lee  stabs  one  uf  his  men  to  the  heart.  When 
the  sliij)  is  near  the  land,  she  is  abandoned  and  set  on  tire.  Lee 
with  his  cut-throats  gains  tlie  shores  of  Block  Island.  They 
drown  remorse  in  driidc,  and  silence  suspicion  by  scattering  their 
ill-gotten  gold  right  and  left.  At  length  the  lugbt  of  their  iior- 
rid  anniversary  (;oim's  round.  The  buccaneers  are  celebrating 
it  by  ;v  carousal,  when  a  sudden  glare,  lighting  up  the  sea,  brings 
the  orgy  to  a  pause. 

Not  bigger  than  a  star  it  seems  ; 

And  now  't  is  like  the  bloody  moon  ; 
And  now  it  shoots  in  hairy  streams  ! 
It  moves  !  —  't  will  reach  us  soon  I 
A  ship!  and  all  on  Are  !  —hull,  yard,  and  mast! 
Her  sails  are  sheets  of  flame  !  —  she 's  nearing  fast ! 


Tu£    BUCUANEKll.  411 

And  what  comes  up  above:  the  wave 

do  ghastly  while  '.     A  sptxtral  head  I 
A  horse'.s  liead  !  (May  Heaven  .save 
Those  looking  on  the  dead,  — 
The  waking  dead  !)     Tlieie  on  the  sea  hi;  stands,  — 
The  Spectre  IJorse!     He  moves!     He  gains  tlie  sands  ! 

The  spectre  lioi-de  gall()j)s  like  the  wind  up  tu  tlio  door-stone, 
and  stumls  witii  his  bmiiing  eyes  iixeil  on  Lee.  A  power  ho 
cannot  resist  coiu})els  the  villain  to   mount  the  dreadful  steed, 


LEE   0\   THE   SPEfTRE    IIORSK. 


which  instantly  dashes  oti"  with  his  Hder  to  the?  highest  (dilF  of 
the  island,  from  which  Lee  sees  not  only  the  ship  on  fire,  Imt 
beholds  in  the  depths  it  lights  the  bodies  of  those  whom  \u'.  had 
slain.  At  dawn  the  spr.ire  vanishes,  leaving  him  rooted  to  the 
spot.  Lee's  doom  lias  ')egn..  thencefortli  he  is  accursed.  All 
shun   him,  all   turn   from  liim  w>  h    fe,  r  and  loathing;  for  all 


i\\ 


■    il  I 


Ml 

i;  Hi 
fill 


i!l 


i 


w  ^-— 


i^ 


Itf:  ! 


;  ! 


iiiii 


412 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


have  scon  the  spectre  ship.  Weary  of  hfe,  yet  afraid  to  die, 
tlie  outcast  wanders  about  the  shores  of  the  island,  —  a  broken, 
hopeless  wreck  of  his  former  self. 

They  ask  liini  why  he  Wiindcrj^  so, 

From  (lay  to  day,  the  uneven  strand. 
"  1  wisli  —  I  wish  that  I  might  go ! 
But  I  would  go  by  land  ! 
And  there  's  no  way  that  I  can  find  ;  I  've  tried 
All  day  and  night  ! "      He  seaward  looked  and  sighed. 

At  last  the  fatal  summons  comes.  The  fireship  again  bears 
<lown  upon  the  island.  Again  the  unearthly  messenger,  the 
si)ectre  horse,  strides  over  the  waves.  The  pirate  pleads  for 
mercy  ;  but  his  hour  is  come. 

lie  's  (in  the  beach,  but  stops  not  there  ; 

He  's  on  the  sea,  —  that  dr(!adi'ul  horse  I 
Lee  flings  and  writhes  in  wild  despair. 
In  vain  !     The  Spirit  Corse 
Holds  him  by  fearful  spell  ;  he  cannot  leap  : 
Within  that  horrid  light  he  rides  the  deep. 

It  lights  the  sea  around  their  track,  — 

The  curling  comb  and  steel-dark  wave  ; 
And  there  sits  Lee  the  Spectre's  back,  — 
Gone  !  gone !  and  none  to  save ! 
They're  seen  no  more  ;  the  night  has  shut  them  in  ! 
May  Heaven  have  pity  on  thee,  man  of  sin  I 


THE  PALATINE, 


413 


THE   PALA'l'lNE. 

J.   u.  Willi' II i;r. 

Old  wives  sjiiniiiiig  thuir  webs  of  tow, 

Or  rockiiiL;'  weirdly  to  ami  JVo 

In  ami  uiit  of  the  jjeat's  dull  ylow, 

And  old  men  mending  tlieir  nets  of  twine, 
Talk  together  of  dream  and  sign, 
Talk  of  the  lost  ship  "  Palatine,"  — 

The  .ship  that,  a  hundred  years  before, 
Freighted  deep  with  its  goodly  store, 
In  the  gales  of  the  equinox  went  ashore. 

Down  swooped  the  wreckers,  like  birds  of  prey 
Tearing  the  heart  of  the  ship  away, 
And  the  dead  had  never  a  word  to  say. 

And  then,  with  ghastly  shimmer  and  shine 
Over  the  rocks  and  the  seething  brine, 
They  l)urned  the  wreck  of  the  "Palatine." 

In  their  cruel  hearts,  as  they  homeward  sped, 
"  The  sea  and  the  rocks  are  dumb,"  tliey  said  : 
"  There  '11  be  no  reckoning  with  tlie  dead." 

But  the  year  went  round,  and  when  once  more 
Along  their  foam-white  curves  of  shori- 
They  heard  the  liue-stonn  rave  and  roar, 

Behold!  again,  Mith  shimmer  and  shine, 
Over  the  rocks  and  the  seething  brine, 
The  flaming  wreck  of  the  "Palatine!" 

So,  haply  in  fitter  words  than  these. 
Mending  their  nets  on  tlieir  ])atient  knees, 
They  tell  the  legend  of  Manisees. 


'' 


il    i 


^1 


lit 


m 


I   I 


f\ 


!!S, 


l! 


414 


NEW-ENULANl)    LEGENDS. 


THE   LAST  OF  THE   WAMPANOAGS. 

THE  heiiutiful  eminence  of  Mount  Hope  was  the  ancient  seat 
of  Philip,  the  great  sachem  of  the  Wanipanoa<;s.  When 
his  reverses  had  left  him  only  a  hantlful  of  followers  riiilip  took 
the  sublime  resolution  of  returning  to  his  mountain  home  and 
dying  like  a  chief  of  royal  blood,  with  his  arms  in  his  hands. 
Mount  Hope  was  quickly  surrounded  by  his  enemies  ;  and  here 
the  dreaded  warrior  fell,  shot  through  the  heart  by  a  renegade 
of  his  own  race. 

When  Jiere  King  PhiUp  stood. 

Or  rested  in  the  niche  we  call  his  throne. 
He  looked  o'er  hill  and  vale  and  swelling  Hood, 

Which  once  were  all  his  own. 
Before  the  white  man's  footstep,  day  by  day, 

As  the  sea-tides  encroach  upon  the  sand, 
He  saw  his  proud  possessions  melt  away, 
And  found  himself  a  king  without  a  land. 
Constrained  lij'  unknown  lav,'s, 
Judged  guilty  without  caus'i, 
Maddened  l)y  treachery. 
What  wonder  that  his  tortured  spirit  rose 
And  turned  upon  his  foes. 
And  told  his  wrongc  in  words  that  still  we  see 
Recorded  on  the  page  of  history. 


#art  Ctoeiftl), 


CONNECTICUT    LEGENDS. 


i:i 


V,    ii 


Hi 


'I  \ 


t  •' 


I 


I 


M 


iiiiiii^K 


TJIK    PHANTOM   SHIP. 


rr^lIIS  marvel  cdiiics  to  us  in  u  letter  wiilten  at  New  Haven, 
_l_  where  it  happened,  to  Cotton  AJatlier,  and  printed  in  hi.s 
"  ?iIa,L,Mialia  Cliristi."'  As  AVai^'ner  has  eonlirmed  t<j  onr  own  ago 
the  iiiiniortiility  of  the  Flying  Dutehnian,  so  have  Matlier  and 
Longl'ellow  decroeil  that  of  tliis  wondrous  sea-leijen<l.  Tliere 
is  no  ])owi'i'  in  science  to  oradicate  either  of  tlieui.  One  would 
not  havi'  liis  illusions  rudely  dispdli'il  hy  going  lu'liind  tliu 
scenes  while  "Der  lliegende.  llolliinder"  is  heing  pri'l'orined  ; 
and  he  does  not  ask  if  under  such  or  siicdi  atmospheric  comli- 
tion.s  a  mirage  may  not  liave  dec(!ivi!tl  the  good  people  nf  Ndw 
Haven  in  the  year  a.  d.  1G17. 

In  that  year  a  Rhode-Island-built  ship  of  al)out  one  huudre(l 
and  fifty  tons'  burden,  carrying  a  valuable  cargo,  besides  '•  a  far 
more  rich  treasure  of  passengers,"  put  to  sea  from  >i'ew  Jhiven. 
Among  those  who  saileil  in  her  were  live  fir  six  of  the  most  emi- 
nent persons  in  that  colony.  The  ship  was  new,  but  so  "  walty," 
that  Lamlierton,  her  master,  often  said  that  she  would  prove  the 
grave  of  passengers  ami  crew.  It  was  in  the  heart  of  winter; 
the  harbor  was  frozen  over,  and  a  way  was  cut  through  the  ice, 
through  which  the  sliip  slowly  passed  on  her  voyage,  wliile  tho 
Keverend  Mr.  Davmipoi't,  besides  many  other  friends  who  wit- 

27 


'"'  r^'\\J] 


I 


KIM 


k.    i 


\  ^ 


i-lm 


Wi- 


418 


NKW-ENGLAND  LEGENDS. 


nosst'tl  her  (k'partiire,  accompanied  hor  with  their  prayers  ami 
tc^ars  until  .she  was  lo.st  to  view. 

An  ill-oui(!iieil  ^loom  overspread  tlie  scene,  to  which  the  i)rayer 
of  the  pastor  lent  an  enii)liasis  of  its  own.  They  Avho  were  de- 
parting heard  these  solemn  words  of  invocation,  wafted  like  a 
prayer  for  the  dead  to  their  ears:  "Lord,  if  it  be  thy  plea.suro 
to  bury  these  our  friends  in  the  bottom  of  the  .sea,  take  them  ; 
they  are  thine  :  save  them  !  " 

When,  in  the  following  spring,  the  ships  arriving  from  Kng- 
land  Ijrought  no  tidingb  either  of  ship  or  company,  "  New- 
Haven's  heart  began  to  fail  her."  This,  says  tlie  narrative, 
"  put  the  godly  people  upon  much  prayer,  both  public  and  pri- 
vate, that  the  Lord  would  —  if  it  was  his  pleasure  —  let  them 
iiear  what  he  had  done  with  their  dear  friends,  and  prepare 
them  with  a  suitable  submission  to  his  holy   will." 

( )ne  afternoon  in  June  a  great  thunderstorm  arose  out  of  the 
northwest.  After  it  had  spent  itself,  —  after  this  gi'and  overture 
had  ceased,  —  the  black  cloiuls  rolled  away  in  the  distance,  and 
the  skies  again  became  serene  and  bright.  All  at  once,  al)out 
an  hour  before  sunset,  the  people  saw  a  large  ship,  with  all  her 
sails  spread  and  her  colors  Hying,  ct)ming  gallantly  up  from  the 
harbor's  mouth.  But  such  a  ship  as  that  had  never  l)efore  been 
.seen ;  for  notwithstanding  the  wind  is  blowing  dead  against 
her  from  the  land,  she  moved  steadiiy  on  against  it  as  if  her 
sails  were  filled  with  a  fresh  and  favoi'able  gale.  The  people 
looked  on  in  wonder  and  in  awe.  The  strange  vessel  seemed 
floating  in  air  ;  there  was  no  ripple  at  her  bow,  nor  on  her  deck 
any  of  the  bustle  denoting  preparation  to  anchor.  All  those 
who  had  assemliled  to  witness  the  strange  sight  gazed  in  stu- 
pefaction. The  children  clajiped  their  hands  and  cried  out, 
"There's  a  brave  ship!"  while  up  the  harbor  she  sailed,  stem- 
ming wind  and  tide,  and  every  moment  looming  larger  and 
more  distinct. 

At  length,  crowding  up  as  far  as  there  is  depth  of  water  suffi- 
cient for  such  a  vessel,  —  in  fact  so  near  to  the  spectators  that  the 
figure  of  a  man  standing  on  her  poop,  with  a  naked  sword,  which 


TIIK    I'llANTOM    SlIII', 


419 


THE    I'UANTOil    SHIP. 

he  point(Ml  soaward,  was 
distinctly  seen,— siul- 
dc'uly  and  noiselessly,  as 
if  struck  hy  a  s(juall,  her 
maintop  soeiued  blown 
away,  and,  falling  in  a 
wr(>ck,  hung  entangled  in 
the  shrouds;  then  her 
mizzen-top,  and  then  all 
her  masts,  spars,  and 
sails  blew  away  from  her 
decks,  and  vanished  like 


'    "W] 


■i' 


'U 


i     :]: 


i 

1 

1 

I'l 

1'  i 

'i  j 
:  ■  J 

(lis 

T 

420 


NKW-KNULAiNl)   LEGENDS. 


tliistli'dowu,  Iciiviiig  only  a  (lisiuantlod  hulk  iloiitiiig  in  tho  quii't 
luiven.  As  if  yit'ldiiig  now  to  iiu  invisibk;  but  ivsi.stles.s  foirc, 
this;  too  began  to  cai'CL'ii  duiigi'rousily  iiioif  and  more,  until  it 
wont  down  bcl'oro  tho  oyos  of  tin?  beholders  in  a  mist  like  cloud, 
which  after  a  Hull'  lime  melted  away,  leavin.g'  the  space  lately 
occupied  l)y  the  ['iiaiitnui  Shiii,  as  everywhere  else,  clear  and 
nnolistructed. 

'I'iio  wonder-struck  lookers-on,  while  this  weird  couiiteri'cii  i.|' 
a  wreck  at  sea  was  enacting  bei'on;  their  eyes,  could  so  far  distin- 
guish th(!  peculiar  form  and  rigging  of  the  Spectre  Ship  as  to 
be  able  to  say  that  "'riiis  was  the  very  mould  of  our  ship,  and 
thus  was  her  tragic  end."  The  learned  and  devout  Mr.  Daven- 
])ort  also  declared  publicly,  "That  (iod  had  condescended,  for 
tlic  ([uititing  of  their  alllicted  spirits,  this  extraordinary  account 
of  his  sovereign  disposal  of  those  for  whom  so  many  fervent 
prayers  were  made  continually." 

Mr.  Bryant,  writing  to  tho  poet  Dana  in  1S24,  saj's  that 
lie  had  formed  tho  idea  of  constructing  a  narrative  poem  on 
this  subject ;  but  upon  finding  that  the  legend  had  already 
been  made  use  of  by  Irving,  he  abandoned  tlu;  i)urpose,  which 
Longfellow  subsequently  carried  out,  with  dramatic  elfect,  as 
follows  :  — 

A  ship  sailed  from  New  Haven  ; 

And  the  keen  and  frosty  airs, 
That  fdled  her  sails  at  parting, 

Were  heavy  with  good  men's  prayera. 

But  Master  Lamherton  nnittered. 
And  under  his  breath  said  he, 
"  This  ship  is  so  crank  and  walty, 
I  fear  our  grave  she  will  be  !  " 

And  at  last  their  prayers  were  answered :  — 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June, 
An  hour  before  the  sunset 

Of  a  windy  afternoon. 


TIIK   OIIAkTKK    (»AK. 

When,  stt'fidily  stcciin^,'  landward, 

A  Kliip  was  seen  Ix'low, 
And  they  knew  il  was  LanilMMton,  Master, 

Wllci  sailed  s(i  loM;^'  a^'d. 

On  she  eanie,  witli  a  (l.md  (d' canvas, 
l{i,:;lit  a:ainsl  the  wind  that  ld(;w, 

Until  the  eye  coiiid  dislin^^niish 
The  laces  (it'  the  crew. 

Then  fell  her  straining  topmasts, 
Haii-in,!,'  tailzied  in  the  shnaids. 

And  her  sails  were  lix.sened  and  lifted, 
And  Mown  away  like  chuids. 

And  the  masts,  with  all  their  ri-^'itig. 

Fell  ^luwly,  <ine  liy  one. 
And  the  hnlk  dilated  and  vanished. 

As  a  sea-mist  in  the  sun  .' 

And  the  pe(i|ile  who  saw  this  marvel 

Each  said  unto  his  friend. 
That  this  was  tin;  mould  of  their  vessel, 

And  thus  her  tra'dc  end. 


4L>1 


THE    CHARTER   OAK. 


TT^KKK  an  American   .schoolboy  to  he  aske.l  to  name  the 
V  V        most  celebrated  tree  of  hi.story,  he  would  undoubte.lly 
mention  the  Charter  Oak.     Other  trees  are  locally  famous;  but 
tins  tree  may  be  said  to  have  a  nati,)nal  reputation. 

It  is  now  not  .,uite  thirty  years  since  the  sturdy  oak  itself 
went  down  before  one  of  those  terrific  storms  tliat^  it  had  for 
centuries  refused  to  bud-e  an  inch  to;  but  so  firmly  had  it 
become  rooted  in  the  event  of  history  which  first  drew  con- 
spicuous attention  to  it,  that  this  will  be  as  soon  for<rotten  as  the 


1 


m 


\H  ■ 


'  M  ii 


if  ! 


Ii  '  ! 


42-2 


NKW-KN(ILANI)    LKGKXDS. 


oiik  will.  Notliiii)^'  illustriitcs  like  this  the  strcn^lli  <ifnlil  nasoci- 
iitidiis,  or  lUDi'o  ciciirly  cxprtfsstis  tliiit  ilcin.iinl  of  the  liuiiiiiii  iiiiml 
for  soiiictliiiij,'  that  iiiuy  fstiiUlisli  u  iclutioii  with  tlir  iiivi.sililu 
thnm^'li  tliL-  vi.siliic.  Tlic  Cliiiilcr  Oak  is  no  inoiv.  Vrt  it  is 
still  tiie  tree  that  (.■oiunicnioratt's  to  must  niiiuls  tho  prt'scrvatioii 
of  the  Colonial  Clmrtt'i',  niorc  distinctly  than  tlu;  event  itsdl'  doi'.- 
the  tree  ;  for  it  is  nndouhtedly  true  that  when  we  east  our  eyes 
over  the  Held  of  history  we  instinctively  seek  out  those  ohjeet.s 
that  rise  ahove  the  coninion  level,  like  steeples  above  a  city. 
One  sees  there  the  Charter  Oak;  the  chapter  of  history  then 
swiftly  nnfolds  itself. 

The  I'all  of  tliis  niii^lity  monarch  of  the  ancient  forests  oe- 
eiirred  in  the  year  lS,")(i.  It  was  announced  thi'ou,t,'hout  the 
Union  as  a  public  calamity;  and  in  Haitl'ord,  where  tiie  ( 'liarter 
Oak  had  almost  become  an  object  of  vciueration,  the  intelligence 
created  a  fei'ling  of  loss  to  the  j^lory  of  the  city  which  nothing 
in  the  way  of  uionuments  could  make  gooil.  The  smallest 
pieces  of  the  tree  were  ea<jerly  sec\ireil  by  relic-liunlers,  and 
they  arc  still  carefully  treasured  up,  in  order  to  perpetuate,  in  the 
thousand  forms  into  which  a  piece  of  wood  may  be  turned,  the 
memory  of  the  brave  (dd  oak  from  which  Hartford  derived  its 
familiar  sobriipiet  of  the  Charter-Oak  City,  of  which  her  citizens 
are  justly  proud. 

The  Charter  Oak  stood  on  the  slope  of  Wyllys's  Hill,  in  the 
city  of  Hartford;  audit  had  .stood  on  the  same  spot  for  cen- 
turies. Xo  man  knew  its  exact  af,'e  ;  but  there  is  little  doubt 
that  it  was  an  obj(!ct  of  veneration  to  the  Indians  loiiLf  Iieibre 
the  discovery  of  America  by  ('oluml)us.  Tradition  .says  that 
when  the  whit(!  jieople  began  to  l)uild  here  at  Hartford,  Mr. 
Samuel  Wyllys,  who  was  one  of  these  ])ioneers,  was  busy  clear- 
ing the  forest  away  around  his  homestead,  and  he  hail  marked 
this  tree  for  destruction  Avith  the  rest  ;  but  the  savages  who 
dwelt  in  the  neighborhood  so  earnestly  begged  that  it  might  be 
spared,  because  its  first  putting  forth  its  leaves  had  been  a  sign 
to  them  from  immemorial  time  when  to  plant  their  corn,  that  at 
their  request  the  oak  was  left  standing. 


TIIK    ClIAKTKli   OAK. 


4:^;] 


Some  idoii  of  tho  j,'rt'iit  ago  of  this  liistoric  tren  iiuiy,  liowcvor, 
1)0  i'dniifd  liy  coiisidiiriii^'  its  iliniciisioii.s.  Thirty  odii  ycmi's 
before  it  fell  to  the  ^'rouiid,  ii  wreck,  it  iiiea.siived  thirty-six  feet 
in  eircuiMfereiin'  ;it  the  ha.se.  'I'he  fauioiis  hidiiig-|iliie(;  in  its 
trunk  had  then  nearly  closed  up,  altiiou;^'h  the  old  jtooph!  could 
reiMcMihiT  when  it  would  easily  admit  a  child  into  the  hollow 
cavity  of  the  tree.  The  same  generation  believed  this  to  he  a 
"ign  that  it  had  fiillillcil  its  mission.     When  Mr.  Lussing  visited 


I 


TUr.    (  UAKTKK    OAK. 


it  in  IS4S  ho  found  the  trunk  then  having  a  girth  of  twenty- 
five  feet  around  it  at  one  foot  from  the  ground  :  and  the  ojiening 
at  the  bottom  was  then  a  narrow  crevice  oidy  large  enough  for  a 
person's  hand  to  go  in. 

This  oak  apiH>aretl  to  have  lost  its  upper  trunk  during  some 
battle  with  lightning  or  gale,  so  that  many  others  of  its  species 
of  more  recent  growth  surpassed  it  in  height  :  but  the  acc'ident 
had  also  enormously  strengthened  the  lower  trunk,  and  extended 
the  spread  and  thickness  of  the  limbs,  whiidi  rontiiuied  to  Haunt 


li'! 


424 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


defiance  in  Ihe  face  (if  the  elements  that  were  surely  destroy- 
iirj;  tliem  piecemeal.  In  time  tiie  tree  had  recovered  its  old 
synnnctry  of  form,  wlule  its  I'oliajic  was  still  romarkuhly  rich 
and  exuherant.  Y'ear  hy  year  it  heeaiiu.'  more  and  more  closely 
im[)riso!ied  within  the  walls  of  the  ,L(rowiiig  city,  until  it  stood 
a  solitary,  though    not   unregarded,    survivor   of   its   race   and 


lune, 

rill 


There  is  another  relic  intimately  associated  with  tin;  Charter 
Oak  for  which  the  ])coi»le  of  Connecticut  have  a  great  regard. 
Hanging  up  in  the  oilice  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  in  the  State 
Capitol,  in  a  frame  made  of  the  Charter  Oak,  is  the  venerable 
original  charter  of  the.  Colony,  hearing  not  only  the  autograph, 
hut  the  po  trail  of  King  Cliarles  II.  It  is  tiie  genuine  world- 
renowned  document  wliose  mysterious  disappearance  one  even- 
ing, about  two  centuries  ago,  eau.sed  su(di  a  hubbub  to  lie  raised 
throughout  tlu!  ("dlonies  ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  of  all  the  his- 
torical treasure.^  of  the  State  the  most  vahied. 

The  story  of  how  tlie  (Jolonial  charter  was  savc.'d  from  the 
clutches  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros  is  a  stirring  episode  of  those  stir- 
ring times,  when  Tyranny,  bohlly  unmasking,  began  o[)enly  to 
threaten  New  Englard  with  tlie  lo.ss  of  ull  her  time-honoi'e(l  fran- 
chi.ses.  In  contempt  of  tlieir  chartered  rights.  King  dame.s  II. 
had  appointed  Sir  Edmund  governor  over  all  the  Xew-England 
Colonics.  Neither  the  wishes,  the  interests,  nor  the  happiness 
of  the  jieople  were  to  be  for  a  moment  considered.  It  was  to 
lie  a  rule  of  iron,  and  a  man  of  iron  was  chosen  for  it.  The 
lirst  step  was  to  seize  and  declare  void  the  old  charters.  IMas- 
sachusetts  ha<l  already  been  dispossesscil  of  hers;  everything 
there  was  in  confusion.  It  was  now  tlie  turn  of  the  other 
colonies.  Willi  this  object  Sir  Ednmnd  despatched  to  the  Con- 
necticut authorities  an  order  demanding  in  good  .set  terms  the 
surrender  of  their  charter  ;  for  even  the  arbitrary  James  would 
liave  it  appear  that  he  paid  some  respect  to  the  majesty  of  the 
law  by  observing  its  forms;  ami  the  charter,  being  a.  royal  grant 
of  power,  could  not  bo  ignored.  The  peo]ile  of  Connecticut  con- 
sidered this -an  act  of  usurpation,  and  tlieir  representatives  natn- 


THE    CIlAliTEH    OAK. 


4'2b 


rally  lu'sitatfd.      P,ut  tlie  diurtor  not  being  Ibrthcoiiiiiig  on  his 
(li'iiKiiid,  Sir  HdiiiuiKl  dctcriiiiiicd  ti.  let  tlic  good  iieople  of  Cn- 
lu'cticut  know  willi  wliuiii  llio.y  liud  to  deal.      He  was  a  luaii  of 
action;  and  lie  (juicddy  put  IdinseU' at  the  head  of  his  .soldiers, 
and    wont   to  fetch   the  instnnnent  at  the  point  of  the  .sword. 
Never  before   had   a  body  of  royal   troop.s   trodden   the  .soil   of 
the   Land    of   Steady    Habits.      .Now,   their   ..rrand   was   to  sow 
the  seeds  of  rel,ellion  and  disloyalty.     Tin;   (iovernor,  jiursing 
his  wrath  all  the  way,  arrived  at    Hartford  in  no  gentle  frame 
of  min.l  ;  and  going  at    once    to  the   House  where  the  Colonial 
Asse]id)ly  was  sitting,  he  strode  into  the  chamber  and  iniperi- 
•  'iisly  demanded,  in  the  King's  name,  the  innne.liato  delivery  to 
him  of  the  charter,  at  the  same  time  declaring  the  old  govern- 
ment to  be  dissolved  and  its  ].roceedings  iinlawfid.     The  repre- 
.sentatives  of  the  people  saw  th.'  structure  that  their  fithers  had 
raised  falling  in  ruins  around  them.      There  stood  the  dictator. 
Open  resistance  would  be  treason.      Hut  certain  of  the   members 
had  resolved  that  he  should  never  have  the  charter,  cost  what  it 
might.     Wishing  to  gain  time,  the  A.ssembly  fdl  into  debate 
over  the  matter,  while  the  King's  viceroy  haughtily  awaitcid  its 
determination  without  leaving  the  clnunber.     The  countenances 
of  all  ju'esent  were  anxious  and  pre-occupied.     The  debate  grew 
warm,   an<l    Sir  Edmund    impatient.      It  became  .so  dark  Hiat 
candles  were  lighted.     The  charter  was  then  brought   in    and 
laid  upon  the  ta])le  in  full  vi.-w  of  every  one  present.     A  hush 
fell  upon  the  Assend)ly,  ev..ry  man  of  whom  knew  that  the  cri.sis 
had  been  reached.      Hy  this  fim.^  the  hous.;  was  surrounded   by 
the  populace,  in  wh.mi  the  feeding  of  resistance  only  wanted  a 
spark  to  .set  it  in  a  llanu^      H.it   a  better  way  had   been  found. 
All  at  once  the  lights  in  the  .diamber  were  extinguished  ;  and 
when  they  were  ofH.'iously  relighted,    the   preciou.s    instrument 
was  gone !     Th.'   faces  of  that  body   of  men    when    this   fact 
dawned  upon  them   must  have  been  a  .study. 

The  tradition  is --for  of  course  n.,  official  record  could  be 
made  of  t^u.d.  an  act  of  treason  —  that  when  the  camlles  were 
put  out,  the  bo.\  containing  the  royal  j.atent  was  snatched  from 


'!'? 


■..■■' 


■M 


!4 


if 


11 


426 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


the  tablo,  Imrriotl  out  of  tlio  chanibor,  ami  tlinist  into  tlic 
hollow  of  the  tree  that  has  ever  since  borne  the  name  of  the 
Charter  Oak.  This  (hiring  act  was  perfuruu'd  l)y  (."aptain  -lei'e- 
niiah  Wadsworth  ;  ami  it  siii)se(iueiitly  .saved  (Jonneetiuut  IVoiii 
having  iniiiosed  u[)on  her  tlie  same  humiliating  terms  that 
Avere  granted  under  favor  of  King  William  to  tlit!  old  Mother- 
Colony. 

But  notwithstanding  his  main  purpose  had  thus  been 
thwarted,  Sir  Edmund  took  upon  him  on  the  spoL  the  reins 
of  government,  by  a  formal  deckration  which  is  entered  upon 
the  recoril,  ch)8ing  with  the  ominous  word  "  linis."  So  the 
people  of  Connecti(!ut  had  ai'ter  all  to  submit,  until  the  Revo- 
hiti(ui  in  England  tum])led  King  James's  rottiui  throne  about 
his  ears,  and  in  its  turn  wrote  "  iinis "  at  the  end  of  his 
fatal  dynasty  iu  characters  large  enougli  to  convey  their  warn- 
ing to  his  successors,  —  "IJesiistance  to  tyranny  is  obedience 
to  God." 


THE  CHARTER  OAK  AT  HARTFORD. 

L.    II.    SIGOURNT'Y. 

Once  there  came,  in  days  of  yore, 

A  mininn  from  the  mother  sliore. 

With  men-at-arms  and  flashing  eye 

Of  predetermined  tyranny. 

Higli  words  he  s])akc,  and  stictrlu'd  his  hand, 

Young  Freedom's  charter  to  demand. 

But  li>!  it  vanislii'd  from  his  sight, 
And  sudden  ilarkness  fidl  like  idght. 
While,  halllcd  still,  in  wrath  and  ]iain. 
He,  groping,  sought  the  jtrize  in  vain  ; 
For  a  lirave  hand,  in  trust  to  me. 
Had  given  that  germ  of  liberty  ; 
And  like  our  relative  of  old 
Who  clasped  his  arms,  serenely  bold, 


THE    I'LACE    OF   XOISKS. 

Arouiid  tlie  eiulaiii^'ered  prince  wlio  iled 
The  scafl'dld  wiieiu  hi.--  fatlier  bli-d, 
I  hid  it,  sail'  IVoiu  storm  and  l)last, 
Until  thc!  days  of  (head  whto  past  ; 
And  tluMi  my  I'aitld'ul  hrcast  ivstored 
The  treasure  to  its  ri^iillul  lord. 

For  tliis  do  pilgrims  seek  my  side, 
And  artists  sketch  my  varying  pride  ; 
And  far  away  o'er  oeean'.s  brine, 
An  aeoru  or  a  leal'  of  nune, 
I  hear,  are  st(-)red  as  relies  rich 
111  anti([uariau's  classic  niche. 


42- 


THE   PLACE   OF   NOISES. 


WE  take  the  following  weird  tale  partly  from  the  historian 
Trunil)ull,  and  partly  from  tlio  [xjet  liraiiiard.  History 
(uul  romance  arc  thus  amiealily  blended,  —  eacdi  elucidating 
according  to  its  own  spirit  the  singular  phenomenon  which 
so  long  disturbed  the  good  jHioplo  of  East  lladdam. 

"The  Indian  name  of  tlie  town  was  Machemoodus,  which  in 
English  is  the  fltce  of  noises, —  a  name  given  witli  the  utmost  pro- 
priety to  the  i)lace.  Tlie  accounts  given  of  the  noises  and  ([u;  kings 
there  are  very  remarka1)le.  Were  it  not  that  the  jicople  are  accus- 
tomed to  them,  they  would  occasion  great  ahu-m.  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Hosmer,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Prince,  of  Boston,  written  August  ISth, 
1729,  gives  this  account  of  them  :  'As  to  the  earth.iuakes,  I  have 
something  consideralde  and  awful  to  tell  you.  Earth(iuake.s  liave 
been  here  (and  nowhere  but  in  tiiis  precinct,  as  can  be  discerned.  — - 
that  is,  they  seem  to  have  their  centre,  rise,  and  origin  among  us), 
as  has  Iteen  observed  for  more  than  thirty  years.  I  have  been  in- 
formed that  in  this  jdace,  before  the  English  settlements,  tliere  were 
great  numbers  of  Indian  inliabitants,  and  that  it  was  a  ]>lacc  of  ex- 
traordinary Indian  })awaws,  —  or,  in  short,  that  it  was  a  place  where 


n  f 


jr 


u 


i 

■ 

■ 

* 

428  m;\v-i:n(;i,ami  i,i:(ir.Ni).s. 

Ilic  lii<liiiiis  drove  a  prodii^'icuis  ti'iulc  at  \v(Mslii|i]iiiiL;  tlic  (l('\il.  Also 
I  was  iiiloniiL'il  that,  many  years  past,  an  old  Indian  was  asked 
what  was  tlic  reason  of  the  noises  in  ilijs  jilace.  To  wiiidi  lie  re- 
jilied.  that  tin-  Indian's  (iod  was  \'ery  an,L,'ry  liecause  En,^dishnlen"s 
(iod  was  come  here.  Now  whether  there  lie  anything,'  diahidieal  in 
these  thin,i,'s.  i    know  not  ;   hut   thi 


1  nave,  i  sujipose,  neaid  seveial  nnnureds  oi  iiiem  wiunn  iweniy 
years  ;  smne  moi'e.  some  less  teriiMe.  Sdnietinies  wt'  have  heard 
them  almost  everyday;  and  ^nvat  numliers  of  tliem  in  the  s])ai'e  ol' 
a  year.  Oftentimes  I  have  ohserveil  them  to  he  eominj,' down  I'rom 
the  north,  iniitatin.L;  slow  thunder;  until  llu'  sound  canu'  near  or  ri.^dit 
iindei,  and  then  there  seemed  to  he  a  hreakin;^  like  tlu^  noise  dl' a 
cannon-shot  or  severe  thunder,  whieh  siiakes  the  houses  and  all  that 
is  in  them.  They  have  in  a  manner  ceased  since  the  great  earth- 
•[uake.  As  I  remendxM,  there  ha\i'  heiMi  liut  two  heard  since  that 
time,  and  tiiose  hut  moderate.'"' 

'I'he  ]>oetic.  version  of  the  story  is  intro(hiee(l  liy  tiie  t'ojlnwin^ 
aeeouilt  in  prose,  for  the  truth  (d'  wliioli  the  poet  voueiu's.  We 
will  only  add  to  it  the  statement  that  tlu;  carhnncle  was  liit,dily 
prized  by  our  ancestors  for  its  supposed  powi'r  to  protect  the 
wearer  from  the  dangei'  of  infection  ;  but  it  was  only  to  be  found 
in  inaccessible  jtlaees,  like  tiie  bowels  of  tbe  earth  or  unviolated 
mountain  peaks. 

'*A  traveller  who  accidentally  passed  throu,L,'h  East  iladdam 
made  several  incpiiries  as  to  the  MoadiiK  /kk'w.s  that  are  peculiar  to 
that  part  of  the  country.  Many  particulars  were  related  to  him  of 
their  severity  and  efl'ects.  and  of  the  means  that  had  betii  taken  to 
ascertain  their  cause  and  |>revent  their  recuneiice.  He  was  told 
that  the  .simple  and  terrified  inhabit.mts.  i;,  the  early  settlement  of 
the  town,  a])plied  to  a  book-learned  and  erudite  man  frotn  Enj,'land, 
by  tlu!  name  of  Doctor  Steele,  who  undertook  by  nnigic  to  allay 
their  terrors  ;  and  for  this  jiurpose  took  the  sole  charge  of  a  black- 


MATGIIIT   MOOD  US. 


42!  I 


smitir.s  slin,,,  in  wl.icli  1,0  worked  by  niglit,  and  fron.  wl.irl,  h,.  ex- 
du.l.-d  allarhuis.ion,  li,:,ditly  stoppin-  and  .larkenin.^'  tlu-  plmr,  t,,  p.r- 
vent,  any  piym-  niriosiiy  IVum  intuiffiiii-  will,  his  ,»■,-, ill  n,.,.,,.,ti,.ii.. 
He,  however,  so  I'ar  explained  tiie  eaiise  ol  ih.'se  noises  as  t,,  sav  thai 
they  wereouin-to  a  earlnm.le  whirl,  ,„i,sl  have  nr„„  i,  i,,  a' ■■ital, 
si/e  in  the  bowels  of  ihe  nuks,  and  that  ij'  it  eonld  be  removed'^  the 
noises  would  eease  unlil  aiiollaa'  should  -row  in  its  phiee.  Tl,.-  nnises 
cease.1;  the  doetordeiiarted,and  has  iievei' b.rn  heaid  of  sin,-,..  ||  ua, 
suppose.l  that  he  took  the  earbunele  will,  hii...  Thus  lar  was  aulhen- 
tic.  A  httle  -irl  who  had  anxiously  i„.timl  the  eoiirse  .d'  tiu:  travel- 
ler's inipiiries  sun-  lor  his  i urther  odiliuation  the  lollowin-  ballad." 


MATCHIT   lAKXJDUS. 
J.    (i.    liliAix  \i;i). 

Skh  you  upoi,  the  lonely  moor 

A  crazy  building'  rise  ? 
No  hand  dares  venture  to  open  the  dooi' ; 
No  Ibotslep  treads  its  dan<,'eriais  lloor  ; 

No  eye  in  its  secrets  jiries. 


Now  why  is  eaeh  crevice  stopped  .so  tij,'ht  ? 

8ay  why  the  liolted  door  .' 
Why  ,i,diniiners  at  niidni!.dit  the  forge's  light  I 
All  day  is  the  anvil  at  rest ;  but  at  night 

The  llaines  of  the  ruruace  roar. 


I 


Is  it  to  arm  the  horse's  heel 

That  the  miilnight  anvil  rii,gs  i 
Is  it  to  mould  the  ])louglisI, are's  steel, 
Or  is  it  to  guard  the  wagon's  wheel, 
That  the  smith's  sledge-hammer  swiiig.s  ? 

The  iron  is  bent,  and  the  erucible  .stands 

With  alcliemy  boiling  up  ; 
Its  contents  were  mixed  by  unknown  hands, 
And  no  mortal  fire  e'er  kindled  the  brunda 

That  heated  that  <'ornered  cup. 


f 


M 


iil^ 


PI 


430  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

O'er  Moodus  River  u  light  hus  glanced, 

On  Moodus  Hills  it  shone  ; 
On  the  granite  I'oi'ks  the  I'ays  have  danced, 
And  upward  those  creeping  lights  advanced, 

Till  they  met  on  the  highest  stone. 

Oh,  that  is  the  very  wizard  place. 

And  now  is  the  wizard  houi', 
By  the  light  that  was  conjured  up  to  trace, 
Ere  the  star  that  falls  can  run  its  race, 

The  seat  of  the  earth([uake's  power. 

By  that  unearthly  light  I  see 

A  lignre  strange  ahnie  ; 
With  magic  circlet  on  his  knee, 
And  decked  with  Satan's  symbols,  he 

Seeks  I'or  the  hidden  stone. 

Now  upward  goes  that  gray  old  man, 

With  mattock,  liar,  and  spade  : 
The  summit  is  gained,  and  the  toil  begun. 
And  deep  by  the  rock  where  the  wild  lights  run. 

The  magic  trench  is  made. 

Loud  and  yet  louder  was  the  groan 

That  sounded  wiile  and  far  ; 
And  deep  and  hollow  was  the  moan 
That  rolled  around  the  bedded  stone 

Where  the  workman  plied  his  l)ar. 

Then  upward  streamed  the  brilliant's  light, — 
It  streamed  o'er  crag  and  stone  ; 

Dim  looked  the  stais  and  the  inoon  that  night  ; 

But  when  morning  came  in  her  glory  bright. 
The  man  and  the  jewel  were  gone. 

But  wo  to  the  bark  in  wliich  he  flew 

From  Moodus'  rocky  shore  ; 
Wo  to  the  captain,  and  wo  to  the  crew 
That  ever  the  breath  of  life  they  drew 

When  that  dreadful  freight  they  bore. 


THE   SPANISH    GALLEON. 

The  cailnuicle  lii's  in  the  dei'i),  deep  sea, 

lieiieiilh  the  mighty  wave  ; 
But  the  light  sliincs  upward  so  yh>ri()Usly 
That  the  isailur  Iduks  jiale,  and  Ibigets  his  glee, 

When  he  tTosst's  the  wizard's  grave. 


431 


THE  SPANISH   GALLEON. 


"  "T"T  is  a  fact,"  writes  the  poet  Druinard,  "  tliat  avo  men  from 
-1-    Vermont  are  now  (.July  lltli,  1827)  working  by  the  side 
of  one  of  the  wharves  in  Saw  London,  for  buried  money,  by  the 
advice  and  recommendation  of  an  ohl  woman  of  that  State,  who 
assured  them  tiiat  she  could  distinctly  see  a  box  of  dollars  packed 
edgewise.     The  locality  was  pointc(l  out  to  an  inch  ;  and  her 
only  way  of  discovering  the  treasure  was  by  looking  through  a 
stone,  —  whii'h  to  ordinary  optics  was  hartlly  translucent.      For 
the  .story  of  the  Spanish  galleon  that  left  so  much  l)ullion  in 
and  about  Xcw  London,  see  Trumlndl's  '  History  of  Connecti- 
cut ; '  and  for  Kidd,  inquire  of  the  okhist  lady  you  can  find." 
The  story  related  by  Truml)ull  is  this  :  — 
"About  this  time  [lloli]  an  unhappy  event  took  place,  dis- 
honorable to  tlie  Colony,  injurious  to  foreigners,  and  wliich  occa- 
sioned  a  groat  and   general   uneasiness,   and   many   uid'riendly 
suspicions  and  imputations  with  respect  to  some  of  the  jjrinci- 
pal  characters  in  the  Colony.     A  Spanish  ship,  coming  into  the 
port  of  New  London  in  distress,  ran  upon  a  reef  of  rocks,  and 
so  ilaniagetl  the  vessel  that  it  Avas  necessary  to  uidade  her  and 
put  lier  freiglit  into  stores  at   Xew   London.     The   cargo  was 
delivered  into  the  custody  of  Jo.seph  Hill,  Ks(j.,  collect(jr  of  the 
port  of  Xew  London.     The  supercargo  was  Don  Joseph  Migmd 
de  St.  Juan.     That  he  might  sail  with  his  cargo  early  in  tlie 
spring,  he  obtained  a  ship  of  about  two  hundred  tons,  and  was 
ready  to  sail  in  April.     lUit  when  he  had  sliipped  part  of  his 


r 


h 


'ill 


ii 


1       I: 


:  i! 


i 


!l 


I      It:       '., 


4;y2 


m;\v-kni;lani)  li/^knus. 


cargo,  (itlicr  parts  of  it  wito  witlilioldcii  I'nuii  him  ny  |.ist,  and 
coiilil  not  liy  any  niran.-j  nf  his  be  rt'cuvuruil.  As  hccuiilil  ulilain 
no  M'lii't',  and  was  (h'tcrniini'd  not  to  sail  witlioiit  thi;  n-cov 
ury  ot  his  (.argo  or  sonic  iii(h'ninilicalion  i'or  the  loss  ol'  it,  he. 
waited  until  Octohcr,  and  then  invl'cirfd  a  iiirmoiial  to  tho 
AsMndily,  rci)ri'si'nliiig  his  arrival  in  the  suow  -St.  Joscjih  and 


OLD   WAUKHOUSES,    NEW    LONDON. 

St.  Helena'  from  Havana,  bonnd  to  Cadiz,  at  the  port  of  Now 
Lomhm  ;  and  that  he  liad  stored  his  cargo  there,  in  the  cnstody 
of  Joseph  Hill,  Es([.,  the  collector;  and  that  when  he  had  pro- 
cured a  vessel  in  April,  and  recjuired  his  cargo,  that  it  might  he 
reshipped,  a  considerable  ])art  of  it  had  been  withholden,  lost, 
and  embezzled  ;  and  praying  for  relief,  or  that  he  might  reland 
that  part  of  his  cargo  which  remained,  and  secure  it  at  their  ex- 
pense ;  and  also  that  his  men  might  be  discharged. 


Till",   SPANISH    (iALLKON. 


433 


"Tho  AssiMiihly,  al'lur  liiiirin^'  ami  delil)orating  on  the  meiiiu- 
rial,  rcs(ilvi'(l,  That  wliatevcr  losses  ht;  had  .siistaiuod,  it  was 
either  liy  means  tu  them  unknown,  or  which  thoy  wen)  by  no 
means  al»le  t(j  prevent.  ...  It  was  (h-clared,  That  the  reijuosLs 
of  the  i)etiti()n(!r  were  unreasonable,  and  thert'i'uro  cuuld  not  bo 


ANCIENT   MILL,    NEW    LONDON. 


granted;  but  that  .'.s  protection  and  assistance  were  due  to  a 
foreigner  cast  among  them,  tlie  Assembly  did  ailvisc  the  (Jover- 
nor  to  grant  all  ilue  p"otection  and  relief  to  the  said  J)oi)  Miguel, 
according  to  the  laws  of  trade,  nature,  and  nations.  The  (Jov- 
ernor  was  also  desired  and  empowenid,  in  case  the  said  Joseph 
Miguel  should  desire  it,  to  direct  a  full  searcli  after  any  part 
of  his  cargo  which  might  have  been  embezzled  or  lost,  and  to 

28 


i 

ll'^       '! 

\i'\i\  ■ 

m 

ne\v-knc;land  legends. 

take  all  such  reasonable  measures  therein  as  should  be  necessary 
to  ilo  justice  in  said  case. 

"  before  the  meeting  of  the  freemen  in  April,  it  was  generally 
known  tliat  the  Spaniards  had  been  robbed,  or  at  least  that 
an  important  part  of  a  rieli  and  very  valuable  cargo  had  been 
stolen,  embezzled,  or  by  some  mtuins  lost  or  kept  back  from  the 
owners;  and  it  occasioned  a  great  ferment  through  the  (,'olony. 
It  was  iniagiiuHl  that  it  might  involve  the  L\ilony  in  great  ditti- 
culties ;  that  it  might  be  obliged  to  indemnify  the  owners,  and 
that  it  would  bring  a  heavy  debt  upon  it ;  or  that  it  might  ell'ect 
a  rui)ture,  and  hostilities  between  the  two  nations.  Others  were 
moved  with  a  sense  of  honor,  sympathy,  and  justice.  They 
were  ashamed  and  grieved  that,  when  foreigners  in  distress  had 
cast  themselves  upon  not  only  a  civilized,  but  Christian  people, 
they  had  been  plundered  as  though  they  had  fallen  among  hea- 
thens, thieves,  and  robbers.  All  the  feelings  of  covetonsriess, 
lionor,  sympathy,  and  justice,  were  touched.  Great  blame  was 
imputed  to  some  of  the  principal  characters  in  the  Colony,  espe- 
cially to  Governor  Wolcott.  It  \vas  imagined  by  many  that  he 
had  not  taken  such  care  and  adopted  such  measures  to  secure 
the  property  of  those  foreigners,  and  to  save  them  harmh.-ss,  as 
lie  ought  to  have  done.  Whether  there  was  any  just  founda- 
tion for  faulting  hhu  or  not,  it  so  disatlected  the  freemen  that, 
notwithstanding  his  former  popularity,  he  lost  their  suifrages, 
and  Thomas  Fitch,  Esq.,  was  chosen  governor  in  his  place. 
Mr.  Hill  did  not  escape  a  share  of  blame,  among  others.  How 
such  a  ([uantity  of  stores  of  various  kinds  should  be  lost  or 
embezzled  without  his  knowdedge  or  privity,  and  that  no  thor- 
ough search  should  be  made  for  them  in  so  many  months,  is 
very  unaccountable.  But  Avliere  the  fault  lay,  or  wdiat  became 
of  the  lost  goods,  never  came  to  ]niblic  view.  Nor  does  it  ap- 
pear that  the  Colony  was  ever  put  to  any  extraordinary  expense 
or  trouble  on  that  account.  The  war  was  now  commencing, 
and  private  concerns  were  neglected  and  forgotten,  while  national 
interests  of  greater  moment  and  more  general  concern  engrossed 
the  public  mind  both  in  Europe  and  America." 


THK    MONKY-l)l(;(iKkS. 


43i 


TI.K   M()XKV-I)I(i(;EI{s. 


.1.    (1.     lilfAINAIUt. 

Tuts  sjiitli  the-  Mook  :  "  IVriiiit  no  witch  to  live  !" 
lluiu't'  Miissacliiisctts  iiiitli  cxiicIUmI  the,  ra<f  ; 
Coiinccticul,  wiicic  s\viii>  iiiid  dickiT  tliiivc, 
Allowed  not  to  their  foot  a  re.stiiig-place. 
With  iiioie  of  hardihood  and  less  of  "race 
Veriiioiit  receives  tiie  sisters  <,'ray  iiiid  lean, 
Allows  each  witcli  her  airy  broomstick  race, 
O'er  iniLjiity  rocks  and  mountains  dark  with  j^reeii, 
^^  here  tempot.s  wake  theii'  voice,  and  torrents  roar  between. 

And  one  there  was  anion-;  that  wicked  crew 
To  whom  tile  enemy  a  pelihle  gave, 
Throuj,di  which,  at  long-ofi'  distance,  she  mi,i,'lit  view 
AH  treasures  of  the  fathomable  wave; 
And  where  the  Thames'  bright  billows  gently  lave 
The  grass-grown  jiiles  that  flank  the  ruined  wharf, 
She  sent  them  forth,  tliose  two  adventurers  lirave, 
Where  greasy  citizens  their  lieverage  ([ualF, 
Jeering  at  enterjirise,  aye  ready  with  u  laugh. 

They  came,  those  straight-haired,  honest-meaning  men, 
Nor  ([uestion  asked  they,  nor  reply  did  make, 
Albeit  their  locks  were  lifted  like  as  when 
Young  Hamlet  saw  his  father;  and  the  shake 
Of  knocking  knees,  and  jaws  that  seemed  to  lireak, 
Told  a  wild  tale  of  undertaking  bold. 
While  as  the  oyster-tongs  the  chiels  did  take. 
Dim  gi'ew  the  siglit,  and  every  blood-dnjp  cold. 
As  knights  in  scarce  roinant  sung  by  the  bards  of  old. 

For  not  in  daylight  were  their  rites  performed  ; 
When  nightcapped  heads  were  on  their  pillow  hud, 
Sleep-freed  from  biting  care,  by  thought  unharmed, 
Snoring  e'er  w^ord  was  spoke  or  prayer  was  said,  — 


^T 


I  ! 


436  NFW-KNOLANl)   LEUKNDB. 

'T  was  thi'ii  the  mattock  niul  tlic  Imsy  spuile, 
The  pump,  tlic  luickct,  iiiul  the  wiii(lla.ss-r(}i»e, 
In  Im.sy  silciicc  plicil  the  mvstii;  trmli-, 
While  llesuliition,  heikttiu'd  on  by  llniic, 
Did  Bweut  and  ugonize  the  soiij^lit-l'or  diest  to  ope. 

Beneatli  the  Wiive  tlie  iron  chest  is  liol, 
Deej)  growls  aiv  heard,  and  itddening  eyes  are  seen  ; 
Yet  of  the  black  ilog  nhe  had  told  thini  not, 
Noi'  ol'  tile  gray  wild  geese  with  eyes  ol'  green, 
That  screamed  antl  yelled  and  hovered  ciost!  between 
The  buried  gold  and  the  rapacious  hand. 
Here  should  she  be,  though  mountains  intervene. 
To  scatter,  with  her  crooked  witch-lia/el  wand. 
The  wave-born  sprites  that  keep  tlieir  tieasure  Ironi  the  land, 

She  cannot,  may  not  come.     The  rotten  wliarl' 
Of  mouldering  planks  and  rusty  spikes  is  there  ; 
And  he  who  owned  a  <|Uarter  or  an  half 
Is  disappointed  ;  and  tiie  witc'Ii  is,  —  where  ( 
Veiinont  still  harbors  her,     (lo,  seek  hei'  there, 
The  grandani  of  .loe  Strickland  ;  find  her  nest 
Where  summer  icicU's  and  snowballs  are, 
Where  black  swans  paddle  and  wln're  jietrels  rest  ! 
Synnues  be  your  trusty  guiile,  and  Robert  Kidd  your  guest ! 


THE   NORWICH   ELMS. 


L.    II.    SIGOURNEY. 


I  DO  remember  me 

Of  two  old  Elm-Trees'  shade, 
With  mosses  sprinkled  at  their  feet, 

Whei'e  my  young  childhood  ])layed ; 


THK   NOIiWlCII    KLMH. 

While  the  rocks  uImjvc  their  lnad 
Frowned  out  so  .stem  aii'l  >^riiy, 

And  the  litth'  crvstid  streamlets 
\Veut  leapiiij,'  on  llieii'  way. 

There,  side  by  side,  they  lifted 

Their  intertwininj,'  down, 
And  llnonj.,'!!  their  i)riiad  enihraciii;,'  arms 

The  (jueenly  Moon  lool^ed  dnwn  ; 
And  meth(.uj,dil,  as  there  I  Iinj,'ered, 

A  ninsiii;,r  ,.liil,|  al,„„.^ 

She  lain  my  secret  heart  wonjd  read 
From  her  bright  silver  throne, 

T  do  renienilier  me 

Ol'  all  their  wealtli  of  leaves, 
When  Snmmer  in  her  radiant  loom 

The  bnrning  solstice  weaves  ; 
And  how,  with  firm  endnrance, 

They  ijraved  an  adverse  sky, 
Like  lielisarins  doomed  to  meet 

His  country's  wintry  eye;. 

I  've  roamed  through  varied  regions. 

Where  stranger-streamlets  run  ; 
And  where  the  ])roud  magnolia  flaunts 

Heneath  a  Southern  sun  ; 
And  where  the  sparse  and  stunted  pine 

Puts  forth  its  sombre  form,  — 
A  vassal  to  tlu'  Arctic  cloud 

And  to  the  tyrant  storm  ; 

And  where  the  pure  unruflled  lakes 

In  plac'id  wavelets  roll, 
Or  where  sublime  Niagara  shakes 

The  wonder-stricken  soul  ; 
I've  seen  the  temple's  sculptured  pile. 

The  pencil's  glorious  art,  — 
Yet  still  those  old  green  trees  I  wore 

Depicted  on  my  heart. 


437 


i 


»  i 


h 


.  If  h 


I 


iS 


T 


438  N^vV-ENGLAM)   LEGENDS. 

Years  lied  :  my  iiiitivc  viilc;  1  s(nij,'hf, 

Wlicic  those  tall  Eliii-Tree.s  wuvu  ; 
]*>iit  many  a  cnhiiuii  of  its  trust 

Lay  liiokeii  in  tlie  i,'ra\'e. 
The  amieiit  ami  tlie  white-liaired  iiieii, 

Wliose  "•is(h)m  was  its  stay, 
Fur  tin-Ill  I  asked  ;   and  Echo's  voice 

Made  answer,  ''  Where  are  they  ? " 

I  soiij,dit  the  thrifty  matron 

\\'hose  liiisy  wlieel  was  lieard 
Wlieii  the  early  i.,  ams  of  moriiiii}^ 

Awoke  the  chirping;  hird  : 
Straiij^fe  faces  from  lier  window  looked, 

Strange  voices  tilled  her  cot  ; 
And  'iieath  the  very  vine  she  trained, 

Ifer  memory  is  for^'ot. 

I  lei't  a  yontliful  mother, 

Her  children  round  her  knee  : 
These  habe:  had  risen  into  men, 

And  coldly  L)oked  on  lue  ; 
Ijut  she,  with  all  her  l)h)oni  and  ,L,'race, 

Did  ill  the  churchyard  lie, 
While  still  those  changeless  Elms  ui)l)oro 

Their  kingly  canopy. 

Though  we,  who  'ueath  tlicir  lofty  scr    ■ 

Pursued  our  childish  play. 
May  show  amid  our  sunny  locks 

Some  lurking  tints  of  gray. 
And  though  the  village  of  our  love 

Doth  many  a  change  betide. 
Still  do  these  sacred  Elm-Trees  stand 

In  all  their  strength  and  pride. 


$>art  ^l^irtccntf). 


NANTUCKET    AND    OTHER    LEGENDS. 


irT"^' 


i  i 


i  !'     I 


rii^i 


111 


NANTUCKET    LEGENDS. 

rp HE  island,  uf  Nantucket,  Martha's  Vineyard,  and  of  the 
-L  Khzabetli  .ronp  all  possess  more  or  less  legendary  lore 
of  the  kind  that  surrounds  the.u  with  a  peculiar  fascination. 
Onel.y  one  these  islands  have  emerged  from  the  sea  into  the 
ight  0  history,  and  have  taken  a  place  upon  the  map.  Little 
by  little  and  with  caution  were  their  inhospitable  coasts  and 
foaming  reefs  explored  by  the  early  navigators,  and  step  by  step 
did  Christian  nussionaries  approach  the  fierce  islanders  who 
inhabited  them  in  happy  ignorance  that  any  other  world  than 
the  neighl)oring  mainland  existed. 

In  the  order  of  chronology  it  is  the  Elizabeth  Islands  that 
should  l)e  the  first  mentioned,  since  it  was  there  tliat  the  bold 
att..npt  to  found  in  New  England  a  colony  of  Europeans  was 
made.     One  cannot  Ibrbear  a  smile  at  its  futility.     Vaguely  con- 
ceived, not  half  matured,  and  feebly  executed,  it  was  abandoned 
as  so  many  enterprises  of  "great  pith  an.l  moment"  have  b.-on' 
in  the  very  hour  that  should  most  fully  test  the  mettle  of  th.jse 
who  were  conducting  it  ;  and  it  is  now  mem.n-able  only  because 
1    was  the  lirst  serious  endeavor  to  naturalize  Englishmen  upon 
the  sod      let  although  these  men  left   only  a  perishable  foot- 
print behind  them,  they  did  bestow  enduring  names  upon  the 
various  capes  and  headlands  that  successivelv  rose  out  of  the 
sea  to  greet  them.     So  far  as  is  known,  however,  not  one  is  a 


■k 


fmfm^ 


;    ! 


:'  i' 


Is 


M     I 


■"  I! 


li       i     I 


l:.  'M    I 


(Ml 


442 


NEW-ENCLANI)    l,r.< SENDS. 


niemonto  o.  f  lionisolvo.s ;  iiovcrtlit'lcss  it  is  thoso.  naino.s  thrown 
at  raiuldin  in  j-assiiig  wliicli  lias  roiulureJ  tlio  voyanc  ul'  Captain 

Hartlioloniow  (Jds- 
nuld  a  fact  wcnlh 
preserving  j  other- 
wise it  is  a  cipher. 
In  the  whol". 
*w-    •      A  \         cdniiJaiiy  who    set 


sail  with  him 
from  Fal- 
n  ontli  there, 
were   only 

CUTTYHUNK.  thlrtj-two 

persons;  of 
whom  but  twelve,  the  Apostolic  numlier,  purposed  remaining  in 
the  country  as  actual  settlers.  It  would  be  dilhcult  to  conceive 
of  an  empire  with  its  millions  dating  its  origin  from  this  hand- 


HANTUCKKT   LEGENDS. 


443 


fill,  had  they  hueu  the  fortunate  ones  to  leave  us  the  duty  of 
inscribing  their  nanierf  at  the  head  of  the  illustrious  roll  of 
founders;  but  tlii'ir  personality  having  no  gu'uter  sulwtance  than 
their  enterj)rise,  tliey,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  whose  names 
the  care  of  Hakluyt  has  i)reserveu,  have  all  vanished. 

From  Falmouth,  then,  on  the  L'.lth  of  March,  U)02,  tlie  "Con- 
cord" put  to  sea.     On  the  l-tth  of  May,  the  day  being  Fri<lay, 

—  mark  that,  }'('  sui)erstitious  mariners  I  —  tiosnold  had  in  view 
tlu'  lumpy  coast  of  New  England,  stretching  from  Agameuticus 
to  Cape  Ann  ;  and  presently,  to  the  great  woiidei'  of  all  on  board 

—  for  these  Knglish  (louLl  not  believe  that  any  had  preceded 
them  here,  —  they  fell  in  with  a  Dasipie  shallop,  manned  by  eight 
tawny,  blackdiaired  natives,  who  could  s[)eak  a  lew  English 
words  intelligibly,  and  could  name  I'lacentia,  in  Newfoundland. 
It  seeiued  that  these  savages  had  coiuinunicated  with  the  French 
there.  Tliis  encounter  could  not  but  cheajH'ii  ( losnold's  esti- 
mate of  himself  as  a  discoverer  in  unknown  seas,  —  for  that  fule 
he  was  fully  a  century  too  late.  lUit  having  thus  got  hold  of 
the  land,  (iosnold  now  put  his  helm  to  starboard,  and  steer- 
ing southward  into  the  Bay,  and  keeping  good  watch,  found 
himself  brouglit  to  by  tlu;  bended  forearm  of  the  great  sand- 
spit  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Cape  ('ad.  He  continued 
cautiously  working  his  way  along  the  south  coast,  shortening 
sail  at  night,  until  he  was  again  embayed  within  the  chain  of 
islands  extending  between  Buzzard's  l>ay  and  the  open  sea,  — 
a  broken,  but  still  magnificent  barrier.  One  of  these  he  called 
Martha's  Vineyard,  thinking  so  little  of  the  matter  that  ho  left 
nothing  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  another  age  respecting  the 
jH'rson  he  had  meant  to  honor,  either  in  token  of  remembrance, 
or  j)erhaps  as  a  i/i(;/e  d\imour.  The  knowledge,  therepjre,  died 
with  the  giver  ;  and  so  Martha's  Vineyard  remains  a  monument 
with  an  incomplete  inscription  which  nolxxly  is  able  to  comjdete. 

Eleven  days  after  sighting  the  coast  the  adventurers  landed  up- 
on Cuttyhunk  Island,  to  which  Gosnold  gave  t.ie  name  of  Eliza- 
beth, the  t^hieen,  —  a  name  that  has  since  been  a])plicd  to  the 
whole  group.     They  decided  to  make  this  islitud  their  residence. 


! 


,  !'■  I- 

1'. 


1 

'I 

[1 

iij 
|i 

i' 

'1 

j  'l 

1    1 

i; 

444 


NK\V-EN(iLAND    LECIENDS. 


Having  great  foar  of  tho  savages,  Gosuold's  men  set  to  work 
building  a  iort,  in  which  thoy  dwelt  until  they  had  procured 
a  cargo  of  sassafras  iur  their  ship,  when  they  hurriedly  de- 
camped and  set  sail  for  England ;  but  upon  the  grand  scheme  of 
colonization  of  which  this  was  to  be  the  entering  wedge,  this 
voyage  had  no  further  result  than  to  act  as  a  spur  to  tho 
lords-proprietors,  who  impoverished  themselves  in  fruitless 
efforts,  until  the  year  1G20  of  happy  memory  showed  them 
what  might  be  done  without  other  resources  than  courage,  per- 
sistency, and  a  lirm  reliance  on  the  assistance  of  Heaven. 

Gosnold  also  saw  and  named  the  remarkable  promontory  of 
Gay  Head,  —  probably  so  called  from  its  brilliant  and  variegated 
coloring  when  the  sun  shone  full  upon  it.  Tho  structure  of  this 
lofty  headland  bears  upon  it  certain  evidences  of  its  volcanic 
origin.  Four  or  five  craters  are  more  or  less  distinctly  traced. 
The  most  ancient  of  these,  long  since  overgrown  with  grass,  and 
called  the  Devil's  Den,  measures  twenty  rods  across  at  the  top 
fourteen  at  the  bottom,  and  is  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet  ileep 
at  the  sides,  except  upon  the  one  next  the  sea,  which  is  open. 
The  most  fantastic  stories  continued  to  pass  current  respecting 
this  wizard  spot  until  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  ;  for 
here,  as  fame  rejiorts,  was  one  of  the  residences  of  ^laushope,  the 
Indian  giant,  tho  tutelary  genius  of  all  the  tribes  inhabiting  these 
islands,  as  well  as  the  adjacent  mainland  of  Cape  Cod.  I.iko 
Fingal,  Maushopo  was  in  tho  habit  of  wading  across  the  Sound 
when  tiie  humor  took  possession  of  him.  Here  he  broiled  the 
whale  on  coals  made  from  the  largest  trees,  which  he  pulled  up 
by  the  roots.  After  separating  No-man's  Land  from  Gay  Head, 
metamorphosing  his  children  into  fishes,  and  throwing  his  wife 
on  Seconnet  Point,  where  she  now  lies,  a  misshapen  rock,  he 
broke  up  housekeeping  and  left  for  parts  imknown. 

The  fishermen  used  to  say  that  it  was  a  common  thing  to  see  a 
light  upon  Gay  Head  in  the  night-time,  and  it  was  handed  down 
as  a  matter  undisputed  among  them  that  the  whalemen  were  in 
the  habit  of  guiding  themselves  at  night  by  the  lights  that  were 
seen  glancing  upon  Gay  Head.     When  they  appeared  flickering 


NANTUCKET   LEGENDS. 


445 


m  the  darkness  tlie  sailors  would  suy,  "Old  Maushopo  is  at  it 
again  !  "  JJut  the  l)eacon-lights  wore  held  to  bo  friendly  ones  • 
lor,  like  the  stars,  they  showed  the  l.elateil  mariner  what  course 
to  steer.  The  sea  has  encroached  greatly  upon  the  clay  clifls 
m  the  course  of  centuries.  The  harmless  descendants  "of  the 
warlike  race  still  inhabit  the  place  ;  but  the  light  of  a  powerful 
Presnel  sinning  from  a  massive  tower  has  superseded  the  mi,i- 
night  orgies  of  the  wandering  Maushope. 

J.ike  the  Eastern  wizards,  IMaushoj.,!  was  capable  of  raisin-' 
mists  whenever  he  wished  ;  but  that  his  was  wholly  an  ori-Mmd 
method  will  appear  from  the  following  traditional  account  of  the 
discovery  of  Nantucket,  which  is  presented  verbatim. 

"In  former  times,  a  great  many  moons  ago,  a  bird,  extraonlinarv 
lo)'  Its  size,  use.l  often  to  visit  the  soutli  shore  of  Cape  Co.!  and  cany 
from  thence  in  its  talons  a  vast  number  of  small  cliildn-n.     Mau- 
slu.pe,  who  was  an  Imlian  giant,  as  fame  leports,  resided  in  ti.ese 
parts.     iMiragcd  at  tiie  havoc  among  tlie  chiMren.   |je  on  a  c.-rtain 
time  waded  into  the  sea  in  pursuit  of  the  bir.l,  till  he  lia.l  crosse.l  the 
Sound  an,l  ivached  Nantucket.     Before  Maushope  forded  the  Sound 
tlie  island  was  unknown  to  the  red  men.    Maushope  found  (he  bones 
of  the  children  in  a  heap  under  a  large  tree.     He  then,  wishing  to 
smoke  a  pipe,  ransacked  the  island  inr  tobacc, ;  but  linding  n.me"  he 
filled  his  j.ipe  with  poke,  — a  weed  which  tlie  Indians  s,.in.;Umes  lised 
as  a  substitute.     Ever  .«ince  the  above  memorable  events  fogs  have 
been  freipient  at  Nantucket  and  on  the  Cape.     In  allusi.,n"to  this 
tradition,  when  the  aborigines  observed  a  fog  rising,  they  would  say, 
'There   comes  old   Maushope's  smoke  !  '      This  tradition  has  been 
related  in  another  way  :  that  an  eagle  having  seizt-d  and  carried  off 
a^pajwose,  the  parents  followed  him  in  their  eaiioe  I  ill  thev  came  to 
Nantucket,  where  they  found  the  bones  of  their  chil.l  dropped  by 
the  eagle.      There  is  another  Indian  traditi(m,  that  Nantucket  wa's 
formed  by  Maushope  bv  emptying  the  ashes  fn.m  his  pipe  after  he 
had  done  smoking.     The  two  tribes  on  the  island  were  hostile  to 
each  other.     Tradition  has  preserved  a  j)lcasing  instance  of  the  power 
of  love.     The  western  tribe  having  determined  to  surprise  and  atta<-k 
the  eastern  tribe,  a  young  man  of  the  former,  whose  mistress  belonged 
to  the  latter,  being  an.\ious  for  her  safety,  as  soon  as  he  was  concealed 
by  the  shades  of  night,  ran  to  the  beach,  (lew  along  the  shore  below 


446 


NEW-EN(!LANI)    LECiENDS. 


If : 


f 


m 


tlio  limit  of  lii,L;h  water,  saw  his  mistress  a  moment,  {:;nvo  the  alarm, 
ami  returned  iiy  tlie  same  route  before  dayljreaiv  ;  tlie  risiii},'  tide 
washed  away  the  traces  of  his  feet.  The  luixt  morning  he  accom- 
panied theotlier  warriors  of  the  tribe  to  the  attaclc  :  the  enemy  was 
found  pri'iiariMl,  and  no  impression  couUl  be  made  on  tliem.  He 
ri'maiiu'd  un(U'tc(ted  till,  several  years  after,  peaci-  Ix'iiig  restoreil 
lietween  the  twotrilies,  and  the  young  man  having  nmrri  jd  the  girl, 
the  truth  came  to  light." 

Wo  have  elsewhere  I'elatod  tho  circumstance  tliat  led  to  tlio 
settlement  of  Nantucket  by  the  whites.  The  (i)uaker  element 
long  continued  to  be  the  dominant  one  in  the  social  life  of  the 
island,  as  well  as  of  its  religion  and  government.  Here,  free  from 
persecution,  these  much-abuseil  I'oUowers  of  George;  Fox  were 
supposed  to  have  founil  their  Arcadia.  They  established  a  pa- 
triarchal government.  Instead  of  laws,  they  had  usages  which 
were  obeyed  as  laws.  It  was  nearly  the  liapi)y  ideal  coiulition, 
where  men  live  without  (piarrels,  without  crime,  and  without 
the  enforcement  of  law.  They  were  husbandmen  and  shepherds. 
They  hslied,  planted,  ami  traded  in  peace.  Although  some  of 
them  amassed  wealth,  everything  about  them  contiimed  to  \vear 
the  appearance  of  a  primitive  economy  ;  they  lived  on  inde- 
pendently and  prosperously.  But  notwithstanding  a  natural 
predilection  for  the  land — and  wo  can  hardly  think  of  Quakers 
as  making  good  sailors  —  there  was  the  sea  continually  calling, 
continually  asserting  itself,  at  their  doors.  I]y  a  transition  as 
curious  as  it  is  absolute,  these  peaceful  shepherds  became  the 
most  noted  sailors  of  our  (!ontinent  and  the  most  renowned 
whalemen  of  the  world.  With  this  cliange  the  native  Indians 
doubtless  had  much  to  do  ;  for  in  their  primitive  way  they  too 
were  expert  in  taking  those  monsters  of  tho  deep.  The  Xan- 
tucket  whale-fishery  began  in  the  waters  immediately  surround- 
ing the  island,  and  in  boats.  The  whaleman  finished  his  career 
andd  the  Arctic  ice,  where  he  quietly  made  for  himself  a  route 
long  before  Governments  entered  into  tho  disastrous  contest 
with  King  Frost  in  which  so  many  valuable  lives  have  been 
lost.     Had  there  been  certain  indications  that  whales  were  to  be 


Al 


NANTUCKET    LI-XiENDS. 


447 


tV.uiul  at  the  Vnh,  tl.o  Xai.tuckct  wl.alomou  would  have  dis- 
covered   it. 

Tlio  .s(.a-aniKil.s  of  Nantucket  are  consequently  very  numer- 
ous ;  and  as  tliey  chieJly  relate  to  stubborn  conflicts  with  whales 
they  are  very  interesting.      But  as  we  now  get  our  oil  upon  the 
la.i.i,   the  industry   wldch   brought   Nantucket   iuto  world-wide 
notice  has  no  longer  any  existence  there.     There   is,  however 
.'i  "nuseuu..  u.  which  are  preserved  many  evidences  to  the  fact' 
n.  the  sau.e  manner  that  Halem  preserves  the  memorials  of  her 
departed  Eastdndian  trad...     Alas!  one  cannot  but  regret  these 
cliauges.      The  whaledishery  gave  t(..  the  nation  a  rac;  of  in- 
trepid sadors,  who   might  have  become  at  need  her  def.mders  • 
the  petroleum  discovery  has  given  us  some  millionnaires. 

It  IS  well  known  that  sailors  are  able  to  discover  tlieir  where- 
ubouts,  even  in  thick  weather,  by  making  an  exanunati..n  of 
the  soundings  tiiat  the  lead  has  brought  up  from  the  bottom. 
ISantucket  skippers,  it  would  seem  from  the  followin.-  ballad  are 
able  to  go  even  farther  than  this,  and  to  tell  with  their  eyes  shut 
in  what  neighborhood  they  are  :  — 


m 


THE  ALARMED  SKIPPEK. 

JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

Many  a  long,  long  year  ago, 

Nantucket  skippers  had  a  plan 
Of  finding  out,  thougli  "lying  low,'' 

How  near  New  York  their  schooners  ran. 

They  greased  the  lead  before  it  fell, 

And  tlien,  by  sounding  through  the  night. 

Knowing  (l,e  soil  tliat  stuck,  so  well, 

Ihey  alwa^'s  guessed  their  reckoning  right. 

A  skipper  gray,  whose  eyes  were  dim. 
Could  tell,  by  tnsfiiui,  Just  the  spot ; 

And  so  below  he'd  "dowse  the  glim,"  — 
After,  of  course,  his  "  something  hot." 


'fl,'^ 


il' 


,J 


448  NEVV-KNULAND    LKGENUS. 

Snuj,'  in  liis  berth,  at  ci},'lit  o'clock, 
This  ancient  skipper  niiglit  bu  found. 

No  matter  how  his  craft  wouhl  rock, 
He  sle})t  ;  foi-  skippers'  naps  are  sound  I 

The  watch  on  deck  would  now  and  then 
Run  down  and  wake  him,  with  the  lead  ; 

He  M  up  and  taste,  and  tell  the  men 
How  many  miles  they  went  ahead. 

OiH!  night  't  was  Jotham  Marden's  watch, 
A  curious  wag,  —  the  pedler's  son  ; 

And  so  he  mused  (the  wanton  wretch !)  : 
"  To-night  I  '11  have  a  grain  of  fun  ! 

"  We  're  all  a  set  of  stu])id  fools 

To  think  the  skipper  knows  by  tasting 

What  ground  he  's  on,  —  Nantucket  schools 
Don't  teach  such  stuff,  with  all  their  basting  !" 

And  so  he  took  the  well-greased  lead 
And  rubbed  it  o'er  a  box  of  earth 

That  stood  (jn  deck,  —  a  parsni|)-bed  ; 
And  then  he  sought  the  skippei''s  berth. 

"  Whore  are  we  now,  sir  /     Please  to  taste." 
The  skipper  yawned,  put  out  his  tongue  ; 

Then  oped  his  eyes  in  wondrous  haste. 
And  then  upon  the  floor  he  sprung ! 

The  skipper  stoi-med  and  tore  his  hair, 
Thrust  on  his  boots,  and  roared  to  Marden  : 

"  Nantucket 's  sunk,  and  here  we  are 
Right  over  old  Marm  Hackett's  garden  ! " 


THE    UNKNOWN   CHAMPION. 


449 


^ 


THE     UNKNOWN    CHAMPION. 

TTTHKX  Charles  I.  u-^.s  about  to  lay  hi.  loyul  hcail  upon  tho 

Y  V      l.lock,  lio  took  his  81.  (;,.oi-o  frum  his  neck  and  han.K.l 

It  to  iJi.shop  Juxou,  saying  as  hu  did  so,  "  Uonicnihur  ! "     Tliis 

wasth.  last   word   utt.n l,y  the,  royal  n.aityr;  Ibr  a  moment 

later  the  axe  f..ll.     According  U>  llunn'.,  after  the  execution  was 
over,  tho  Council  of  Stato  called  Juxon   before  them,  and  de- 
manded to   know  what  this  command  of   tho  King  signilied. 
Juxon  replied  that  on  the  day  before  his  <leath  the" King  had 
expressly  recommended  to  him  to  convey  to  his  son,  should  that 
son  ever  ascend  the  thn.no,  his  wish  that  his  munlerers  might 
bo  pardoned;  and  that  it  was  his  own  promise,  then  giveir,  tliat 
the  King  had  recalled  when  handing  him  his  St.  ( Jeorge, -1  des- 
tined to  bo  placed  in  his  son's  hands.     The  following  ntuvy  is  an 
example  of  the  memory  of  kings  and  of  the  filial  obedience  of 
Charles  II. 

We  now  enter  upon  one  of  those  romantic  episodes  belon- 
ing  to  the  heroic  age  of  our  history  and  emboilyin-  its  true 
spirit.  ° 

The  history  of  tho  tradition  is  briefly  this.  It  originated  in 
the  family  of  Governor  Leverett,  who  ruled  over  tho  (restinies  of 
the  Lay  Colony  during  its  desperate  struggle  with  King  Philip, 
and  it  has  first  a  permanent  record  in  the  i)ages  of  Hutchinson', 
who  had  in  his  possession,  when  he  wrote,  the  original  manuscript 
diary  and  many  other  of  the  private  papers  belonging  to  the  fu"i. 
tive  regicide.  Colonel  ^\'illiam  Coffe,  the  hero  of  the  traditional 
story. 

There  are,  it  is  true,  some  zealous  anticpiaries  who  do  not 
hesitate  to"  characterize  the  story  as  a  romance  pure  and  simple  • 
but  as  they  have  only  succeeded  at  the  most  in  involvin-  it  in 
doubt,  a  tradition  possessing  sufficient  vitality  to  live  unchal- 
lenged for  so  long  u  period  as  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  may  well 

29 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


^c 


f/ 


mo 


>"  «^. 


s 


s,..    V 


w. 


V 


Ua 


:/. 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


IM    12,2 


ililli6 


2.0 


1111= 

iA  11.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Cornoration 


'^ 


iV 


'^N> 


^^' 


6^ 


^^^     ^ 


■\r  .^  ^ 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  145  80 

(716)  872-4503 


^. 


:<? 


C^- 


l^. 


Wl 


!T5= 


iii: 


;    .' 

I 

1      : 

! 

\ 
^ 

i 
1 

j 

1       i 
1 

450 


NEW-ENGLAND  LEGENDS. 


Ijc  entitled  to  have  the  benefit  of  that  douht.  Tnitli  al)ove  all 
things;  hut  1)of(ire  treating  one  of  otir  most  valued  traditions  as 
an  impostor,  conclusive  evidence  to  the  imposition  becomes  a 
logical  necessity  to  the  framers  of  the  indictment.  They  cer- 
tainly (Uight  not  to  come  into  court  without  a  clear  case. 

Adhtic  siibjndlce  lis  est.  "Without  joining  in  the  discussion 
here,  let  US  perform  a  more  gracious  duty,  and  tell  the  story  as  it 
was  always  tuld  and  believed  before  its  credibility  was  called  in 
question. 

In  the  month  of  October,  IGG-l,  feeling  no  longer  sale  in  their 
retreat  at  >«'ew  Haven,  (jloll'e  and  Wlialley  lied  uj)  the  valley  to 
Hadley,  which  was  then  one  of  the  remote  frontier  i)lantations. 
Every  precaution  was  takiMi  to  render  the  journey  a  profound 
secret.  Upon  arri\ing  there  tluiy  were  hospitably  received,  given 
shelter,  and  carefully  guarded  i'roni  all  intrusi(jn  u])on  their  ])riv- 
acy  by  the  minister  of  the  place,  the  Revereml  John  IJussell, — 
whose  house  thenceforth  became  their  abode  for  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years,  until  death  released  one  of  them  foriiver  from  the  ennuty 
of  men  and  kings.  Only  a  few,  whose  fidelity  could  be  depended 
upon,  were  admitted  into  the  secret ;  and  for  greater  security 
it  was  given  out  that  the  regicides  had  fled  to  New  York,  with 
the  purpose  of  again  crossing  the  seas  and  taking  refuge  in 
Holland. 

Behold  these  two  outcasts,  behiml  whom  "  stalked  the  heads- 
man," finally  immured  within  the  four  walls  of  an  humble  fron- 
tier dwelling,  like  men  who  have  forever  taken  leave  of  the  world 
and  its  concerns,  but  whom  the  world  still  vindictively  pursues. 
The  same  ruthless  spirit  of  revenge;  that  had  violated  the  senseless 
l)odies  of  Cromwell  and  Ireton  was  now  abroad  in  New  England  ; 
and  her  people,  willing  though  they  might  be,  dared  not  openly 
resist  the  hard  logic  of  events.  That  spirit  was  the  vengeance 
of  a  king ;  that  logic,  the  restoration  of  (Jharles  Stuart  to  the 
throne. 

Eleven  years  had  rolled  over  the  heads  of  the  exiles.  One  by 
one  their  hopes  had  fallen  to  the  ground  and  withered  away. 
"Whalley  had  become  decrepit;  Goife  indeed  retained  some  of 


THE    UNKNOWN    CIIAMI'TON. 


451 


lie  old  hre  h.  had  shown  when,  at  th.  h.-ad  of  Cromwell's 
Ironsides  he  clun.<,ed  at  Dunbar,  and  turn..!  the  doubtlul  issue 
of  that  nlurious  day.     This  hrings  us  t(.  the  year  l(i7;> 

The^yeaa'   1G75   ushere.l  in  the  gigautic  stru-l.  with   Philip, 
the  great  .^ urragansett  ehiei'tain.     X.ver  h..f„re  had  sueh  a  storm 
of  war  assailed  poor  New  England.    ( ■alamity  fnllou-.d  ealamitv 
An  adversary  M-ho  concentrated  in  his  own  nlld..lie  person  all 
the   hatred,  the   sul)tlety,  the   thirst   for  vc-ngeanee    of  his  race, 
suddenly  rose,  the  majestic  and  fatel'u]  liguiv  of  the  hour.     Philip 
ivi..^  of  Pokanoket,  had  proclaimed  M-ar,-.war  in  its  most  i.vvC 
ble  aspect,  -  war  to  the  knife.      Philip  the  leader  had  aroused 
ns  people  imm  th.ir  deadly  h.thargy  of  iorty  years  tn  n.akc  one 
last   cue    supnMue   cilorl.      It  was   now  a    struggle    lor  hn.    or 
death,  and  as  such  had  to  be  met. 

The  nienaced   Colonies    hastened  to    put    forth  their  utmost 
ellorts  in  ord.r  to  meet  the  eme.v,ency,  whose  gravity  incivase.l 
every  iiour.     A  g.meral  insunv,;!  inn  of  all  the  tribes  was  I'hilip's 
hr^pe  and  .\ew  England's  f..ar.      dohn   Lever..tt,  a   soldi,.-  of 
..romwell,  was  then  at  the  head  of  allairs ;  and  he,  rising  to  the 
crisis,  now  show.Ml  all  th.-  energy  that  might  be  expected  from 
a  scholar  who  had   served   his  apprenticeship  un.ler  so  abl..  a 
master.     Put  at  first  the  ,.cale  of  victory  inclined    In-avilv  in 
Philip's  favor.     Instead  of  coml^ats  we  ivad  only  of  massurres  • 
instead  of  victories,  the  record  shows  disaster  upon  disaster.       ' 
Driv.m  at  length  from  his  own    stronghold,    Philip,    ut   th(> 
Jiead  of  a  small   band  of   his  warriors,   ivtire.l  into  the  heart 
ot  the  .Nipmuck  Country,  which  then  extended,  a  wilderness  of 
•swamps,  thickets,   and  mountain-defiles,   between   the  seaboard 
settlements  aii.l  tho.se  lying   in  the  lovely  Connecticut  Valley 
A  single  road  traveivsed  it.     A  s..litary  outpost,  around  which 
a  ieeble  settlement  had  grown  up,    wa,s   planted  in   the  midst 
of  this  solitude;  this  was  Brooklield. 

The  sanguinary  struggh;  was  here  renewed ;  and  here  some  of 
the  best  blood  in  the  Colony  was  uselessly  shed.  Upon  this 
isolated  post  Philip's  confiuleratcs,  the  crafty  Nipmu.  s,  fell 
witli  fury.     Soon  after  this  they  were  joined  by  Philip  in' per- 


'I 


m 


I 


•152 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


SOU.  He  now  ainiod  at  iiotliiug  less  than  tlio  total  destruction  of 
the  isolated  vallry-scttleuients.  The  Colonial  forces  that  had 
been  sent  for  the  relief  of  ]>rook(ield,  after  .^uilering  severely  in 
several  bloody  encounters,  succeeded  in  driving  the  exasperated 
enemy  back  upon  the  Connecticut  settlements,  which  thus 
speedily  became  the  battle-ground  of  the  combatants.  Hei'e, 
alas !  the  bones  of  many  a  stout  soldier  moulder  in  unknown 
graves. 

There  were  several  tri])es  living  at  peace  with  the  whites  in 
tins  valley  whom  the  ncnvs  of  Philip's  succes.ses  now  threw 
into  u  fever  of  excitement ;  his  agents  did  the  rest.  These  tribes 
had  received  his  wami)um,  and  were  secretly  .sharpening  their 
hatchets.  The  white  people,  taking  the  alarui,  and  being  more- 
over warned  of-  what  they  might  presently  expect  from  such 
dangerous  neighbors,  attempted  to  disarm  them  ;  but  the  attempt 
resulted  in  these  Indians  going  over  to  Philip  in  a  body.  They 
were  pursued,  overtaken,  and  brought  to  bay  near  Sugar-Jioaf 
Mountain,  in  Deertield  ;  but  they  succeeded  after  a  sharp  light 
in  making  good  their  retreat.  This  occurred  on  the  2oth  of 
August. 

On  the  27th  the  Englisli  were  defeated  at  Xorthfield,  and  fled 
in  confusion  back  as  far  as  Hadley  before  they  rallied  again. 
On  the  1st  day  of  September  the  enemy  made  a  bold  onslaught 
upon  Deerlield,  and  nearly  destroyed  the  whole  settlement. 
Thus  for  a  whole  week  the  inhabitants  of  this  part  of  the 
valley  had  been  constantly  harried  and  beset.  With  the  enemy 
always  at  their  doors ;  with  the  war-whoop  sounding  hourly 
in  their  ears ;  with  the  hurrying  to  and  fro  of  armed  men  and  of 
fugitives, — one  does  not  ask  whether  the  inhabitants  were  in  a 
state  of  perpetual  alarm. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  the  little  counuunity,  among  whom 
the  regicides  lay  concealed,  on  the  1st  of  September,  1G75. 
liieir  lives  were  now  doubly  threatened. 

We  will  now  let  an  eminent  historian  and  novelist  take  up 
the  narrative.  The  dramatic  power  of  the  simple  incident 
needed  no  attempt  at  embellishment,  and  none  is  made. 


THE    UNKNOWN    CHAMPION. 


4-3 


Til  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  Peveril 
relates  this  story  :  — 


tlio   Peak"    Bridgeiiorth 


"  I  was  by  chance  at  a  small  villai^^e  in  the  woods  uunv.  than 
thii'ty  miles  from  Boston,  and  in  a  situation  exceedingly  lontdy,  and 
surrounded  hy  thickets.  Nevertheless  there  was  no  idea  ol'any  dan- 
ger from  tlie  Indians  at  that  time  ;  for  men  trusted  in  tlie  protection  of 
a  considerable  body  of  troops  who  had  taken  the  held  I'or  tlie  protec- 
tion of  the  frontiei's,  and  who  lay,  or  were  supposed  to  lit',  Ijutwixt 
the  hamlet  and  the  enemy's  country.  But  tliey  had  to  do  with  a  foe 
whom  the  Devil  himself  had  inspired  with  cunning  and  cruelty.     It 

>  i»  K.'-A'nVr'.'L 


0Ol'l"E    K.VLLVlMi    TMK    SETTLIOUS. 


was  on  a  Sabbath  morning,  when  we  liad  assembled  to  take  sweet 
counsel  in  tlie  Lord's  housi'.  ...  An  excellent  worthy,  who  now 
Bleeps  in  the  Lord,  Nehemiah  Solsgrace,  had  just  begun  to  wrestle  in 
prayer,  when  a  woiuan  with  disordered  looks  and  <lislievelled  hair 
entered  our  chapel  in  a  distracted  manner,  screaming  incessantly, 
•The  Indians!  The  Indians!'  In  that  land  no  man  dare  separate 
himscdf  from  his  means  of  defence;  and  whether  in  the  city  or  in  the 
field,  in  the  ploughed  land  or  in  the  forest,  men  keep  beside  them 
their  weapons,  as  did  the  Jews  at  the  rebuilding  of  the  Temple.  So 
we  sallied  forth  with  our  guns  and  pikes,  and  heard  (he  war-whoop 


rwF-^ 


: ;  ;  (i 


■i? 
l| 


1 

1     il 

■t 

i 

It 

i 

i:- 

454 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


ol' these  incarnate  devils,  already  in  possession  of  u  part  ol'  the  town. 
...  In  tine,  tluire  was  much  damage  done  ;  and  iilthou;^di  our  arrival 
and  entrance  into  conihat  did  in  some  sort  put  them  liack,  yet,  heinj; 
surprised  and  conl'used,  and  liaving  no  apixiinled  kvuh-r  ol'  our  bund, 

the  devilish  enemy  shot  hard  at  us,  and  had  some  advanta,L;e.  ...  In 
thi:j  state  of  confusion,  and  while  we  were  ahout  to  ado[it  the  desper- 
ate project  of  evacuating  the  villa-c,  and,  pLuiii'^  the  women  and 
children  in  the  centre,  of  attempting,' a  retreat  to  the  nearest  settle- 
ment, il  pleased  Ileavt'ii  to  send  u.i  une.\]iected  a.-ssistance.  A  tall 
man,  of  r(;verend  appearance,  whom  no  one  of  us  had  ever  seen  he- 
lore,  suddenly  was  in  the  midst  of  us  as  we  hastily  a;.,'itated  the  reso- 
lution of  retreatini,'.  Ilis  garments  were  of  the  skin  of  the  elk,  and 
he  wore  sword  and  carried  gun  :  I  never  saw  anything  more  august 
than  his  features,  overshadowed  hy  locks  of  gray  hair,  which  luingleil 
with  a  h>ng  heard  of  the  same  color.  '  Men  and  hivthren,'  he  .said,  in  a 
voice  like  that  which  turns  back  the  llight,  '  why  sink  your  hearts  I 
and  why  are  j'on  tlui.s  di.sipueted  I  Fear  ye  that  the  God  we  serve  will 
give  ye  up  to  yonder  heathen  (hjgs  t  Follow  me  ;  and  ye  shall  sec 
that  this  day  there  is  a  captain  in  Israel ! '  lie  uttered  a  few  brief 
but  distinct  orders,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  was  accustomed  to  com- 
mand; and  such  was  the  influence  of  his  appearance,  his  mien,  his 
language,  and  his  presence  of  mind,  that  hi'  was  implicitly  ol)cy(>d  by 
men  who  had  never  seen  him  until  that  moment.  We  were  hastily 
disided  by  his  orders  into  two  bodies,  —  one;  ol' which  maintained  the 
defence  of  the  village  with  more  coui'age  than  ever,  convinced  that 
the  unknown  was  .sent  by  God  to  our  rescue.  At  his  command  they 
assumed  the  best  and  most  .sheltered  iiositions  for  exchanging  their 
deadly  tire  with  the  Indians  ;  while  under  cover  of  the  smoke  the 
stranger  .sallied  from  the  town  at  the  head  of  the  other  division  of 
the  New-England  men,  and  fetching  a  circuit,  attacked  the  red 
warriors  in  the  rear.  The  surprise,  as  is  usual  anumg  Indians,  had 
complete  elfect ;  for  they  doubted  not  that  they  were  assailed  in  thiiir 
turn,  and  placed  betwixt  two  hostile  parties  by  the  icturn  of  a 
detachment  from  the  jirovincial  army.  The  heathens  iled  in  confu- 
sion, abandoning  the  half- won  village,  and  leaving  behind  them  such 
a  number  of  their  warriors  that  the  irib(  hath  never  recovered  their 
loss.  Xever  shall  I  forget  the  figure  of  our  venerable  leader,  when 
our  men,  and  not  they  only,  but  the  women  and  children  of  the  vil- 
lage, rescued  from  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife,  stood  ci'owded 
around  hiui,  yet  scarce  venturing  to  approach  his   per.son,  and  luoro 


THE    UNKXOWN   CHAMPION. 


455 


mmlc-l,  pe.-l,ai.s,  to  worsl.ip  hi.u  as  a  .K-scendea  ang.l  tl.an  to  tlu.nk 

I>"u  as  a  ,eUow-,uortal.     '  Not  unto  n.e  be  .I,e  .L,,,-/  be  sai        'l 

urn  but  an  ,n,.l..nK.nt    IVail  as  yourselves  in  the  hand  of  Hi,     i,,.' 

s  stro,^   o  dehve,       B,.in,  nu.  a  eup  of  .ate,,  that  I  n,av  all    ■    nj 

nost  due.      Sudun,  on  his  knees,  and  signing  ns  to  obev  hi.n  Z 

"1  tlic  battle,  u-hich,  pronounced  with  a  voiee  loud  and  clear  as  a  war 
nnnpet,  thrilled  through  the  Joints  and  n.arrow  of  the  k^Z^ 

up,  but  our  .lehverer  wa.s  no  lunger  auiongst  us,  nor  wa.  he  ever 
aguni  seen  in  the  land  which  he  Imd  rescued/' 


lo  tins  faithful  nuidoring  of  the  tradition  from  thn  nuttchloss 
pen  of  the   ^^.ard   of  the  Xorth   is  pendant    .Southey's  unl  " 
ished  poen.  o     "  Oliver  Xewnuu,."- a  w„rk  intended  to  reali.o 
this  authors  long-meditated  purpose  oi'  writing  an  An-do- \nier 
ican  epic.     The  story  of  GolR.'.  appearance  alnong  tie  ,         . 
stncken  settlers  at  Iladley  so  strongly   impressed   hin,  tlL     e 
-Wrnuned  t.  make  it  the  n.ain  inci.lent  of  an  historical  poem, 
^^h  cd.  unfor  unate  y  for  the  world,  never  advanced  bevonll  the 
fir.t  stn.es  of  developnuuit.     The  characters  are  introduced,  and 
t,e  ac  urn  begins,  ~  when  the  curtain  tails,  leaving  ns,  indeed, 
.th  the  programme  in  our  hands,  in  the  lorn,  of  notes,  hut  with 
the  sense  ot  irreparable  loss  to  us  and  to  our  historic  annals.     As 
1   to  compe  the  admiration  due  to  genius,  Southey  makes  one  of 
0  despisec  sect  of  Quakers  his  hero,  who,  from  i  double  sens 
auty  and    ihal  love,  has  crossed  the  ocean  in  search  of  his 
proscribed  and  fugitive  parent. 

This  remarkable  tradilion  did  not  escape  the  ,uick  recogni- 
tion o  our  own  master  of  ron.ance.  It  is  accordingly  the  sub- 
ject of  one  of  Hawthorne's  earliest  tales,  entitled  ''The  cZ 
Champion.  It  is  true  that  the  action  is  transferred  to  Boston 
hat  the  time  is  brought  forward  ten  years,  and  that  the  autl^; 
seeks  to  produce  a  moral  rather  than  a  physical  effec-t  in  his 
<^limax.     But  the  incideut  is  still  the  same.     The  Cray  Cham- 


I 


ii 


i' 


H 


I 


456 


NFAV-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


pion  who  siuldonly  confronts  Sir  Edimnid  Andros  and  his  rn- 
tiiiuo  in  tlio  stroi'ts  of  Boston  luid  bids  them  "stand,"  is  no 
other  than  the  fugitive  regicide;  and  his  purpose  is  still  to  exalt 
the  spirit  of  the  i»eo[)lo  by  tlie  timely  display  of  the  superiority 
of  moral  over  mere  jdiysieal  jMnver  on  the  side  of  tlie  rightful 
cause.     Sueh  is  the  tradition. 

Dr.  Dwight  relates  that  Mr.  liUssell's  house  had  been  pulled 
down  some  years  previous  to  liis  visit  to  the  si)ot  in  179G,  but 


GRAVES   OP  THE   REGICIDES,  NEW   HAVEN. 

that  Mr.  Gaylord,  the  owner  of  tlie  estate,  gave,  him  the  following 
fact  concerning  it.  "When  the  workmen  were  demolishing  the 
building  they  discovered,  just  outside  the  cellar  wall,  a  crypt 
built  of  solid  masonry  and  covered  with  hewn  flagstones. 
Within  this  tomb  were  found  the  bones  of  "Whalley.  After 
"Whnlley's  death  Goffo  quitted  Hadley,  living  sometimes  in  one 
place  and  sometimes  in  another,  under  various  disguises  and 
aliases  that  have  given  rise  to  other  ](\gendary  tales  concerning 
him  or  the  places  that  became  his  asylum. 

By  a  hyperbole,  exaggerated  perhaps,  but  still  pardonable  in 
a  people  who  traced  everything  in  man  or  nature  to  the  active 
intervention  of  the  Most  High,  the  unknown  savior  of  Hadley 


THE  UNKNOWN   CIIAMI'ION.  4,-, 7 

was  long  spoken  of  as  an  angel  sent  fur  tl.eir  .Iclivorance      His 
sudden  appearance  among  them,  his  strange  ^arb  and    Zh 
^uty  and  authority  of  his  n.anner,  ancffi^         ^  '^:  r 
able  disappearance  in  the  moment  of  victory  mav  v^ 

-I^^M-intheirmindstoasupornatlLr^^^^^^^ 
Charles  would  have  (lo(.ni>itr,f,.,l  fi,„        •  •  1  °  ° 

martyr  wl,„„  „,,„„  t|,„  ,„„(f„,,,_  „  ^^  _^^^  ^^J^  ^"^  _^^^"-  "'Jal 


1  N  D  E  X. 


Ada.ms,  SiiMiiicI,  84. 

AKJiiiiciKiciis,  .Mdiiiit,  ;j;i|. 

Anji^siz,  Louis,  l.')-). 

Aldcii,  .loliii,  ;j7(). 

Aldcn,  lUv.  Tiiiiiilliv,  .-tr!). 

Amlros,  I  i„ly,  .-iS^;  Sir  K.limin.l, 

Anviilc,  Duel',  71. 

AriiiiM,  (iovrrii,,!-  IJciiclict    .-Jii.s 

Ashtrill,   I'liiiip.  •_)12.  ' 

AvLTv,  ,)„>,.|,h,o.t,-,.  Avcrv's  Tall, 

Haiiso.v,  KhciitziT,  2.-)4. 

liai-iiani,  l.'cv.  ,l,,liii,  ooV 

jii'lliM.nliani,  l;i,.|iMni,  .■J.i'jl 

J)e<sc,  .Idsepli,  isii. 

Itlackheai-d,  (i(i,  .•;:,(), 

Iil;ii  iotniic,  William,  fl,  lo 

l>i)ai's  Head,  :',2-2. 

"ostoM     id,.al  .l..s,ri,,tioii   of,   ;i-(i; 

"''U,  14:  III  1770,  iii,. 
nnidtoni,  U'illiaiii,  .'UIS 

iraiiiani,  .!.(;.,  427,  4:il,  4.!-,. 

Ifivwslcr,  Mai-arc't,  :,7. 
lii'i'C'k,  K'cv.  .Idjiii,  .•i47 
jfrowii,  lU'v.  Artliiii-,  ;i4] 
"litter,  EdwanI,  I8(i. 

<,'ai.i;i.-,  I{„|),.it,  (!(). 
J-jipi'  Ami,  dc'scrijitioii  of,  2;J7 
<    lamiieniowiio,   |.Vaiiris,  .157" 
thai-tiT  Oak,  Th,.,  421. 
<'!i(-'c.siiiaii,  I'.dward.  2(!-> 
(.liiltoii,  .Man-,  .XSO. 

'-'IHoil,    Hope,  40 

'  'illiii,  Jdsluia,  287. 
*'<'li',  EiiinVe,  ;i28 
•/"laiit,  Koj,r,.,..  if;7_ 

'  iHdid-c,  Coriiplius,  153. 
<  "I't'.v,  (iiles,  U»4. 
t'Ottoii,  Kev.  Joliii,  i;j. 

Uana,  R.  Fr.,  240.  40.3 


424. 


2.-)0. 


Jii 


(    Ravis,  Xicludas,  40 
I    ['awes.  \Villiain,  84*. 

IV.xtir,  'riiiiotli\-,  2!)2. 

I'IkIiIoii  liock,  ;'i!i.5~' " 

I'iiiioiid,  ,l(j|iii,  144] 

l>otil,l,-li,_.ad,.d  .Siia'ke,  ;J07. 
l>iidliy,   I  Ik, mas,  1;J7. 
"iiii^voii  j;,,ck,  l;J4 
I'yiT,  Man-,  'M. 

i:<.«;  liocK,  J48,  101. 
'■■Iiijt,  .loliii,  20,   123 
'•-li"t,  William,  240.' 
l-li"t  Oak,  121. 

1'"a.vi(.i.st    Coiitrovi.i-sv  .      ,         . 
J'Micliiii.soM.  •'  '     '''    '^""e 

Firlds,  .lames  T     •)4o    -v-.     (  .- 

''"■'""•",  .1011,1,201'        '^^'• 
I'ltfli,  Tlioiiijis,  4.J4 

'•'•'I'l^liM,  IVrnjami,,,  .;,;.     '      '• 

O.YiK,(;(.ii,.ral  Thomas,  81. 
Jjalliip,  .Jo||||.(j7. 

^'"!:!''-7,'.,'^\'illia„,  i.lov.l,  I.iS. 
f-ort,.,  (  oloiud  William,  441). 
<:'i>ldsmitli,  l.'alph,  4!) 

I    (^"iiM,  Hamiali,  .io:).  '    ^• 

<,'>;<at  Kin,  of  Boston,  ,15,  K).  U)r, 
tiivcii  Di-a^r,,,,,  81. 

IIa.mi'tdx,  X.II.,  .319 
Hancock,  Jolm,  84.  ' 
llarradcii,  Andrew,  201 

riil)l)iiis,  .Ann.  28. 
llibhins,  William,  30. 
Hiph  Uuck,  141. 
Hill,  Jost'idi,  4;jl. 


!    I 


4fi0 


NEW-KNfiLANP   LEGENDS. 


Jlillim,  Mnrtlm,  :m. 

Iliilliiijrswfirlli,     AVilliiiin,     ]7(i;     Sii- 

MIIIIIIl,  JTii. 
Iliilincs,  ().  W. ;  ,«((    "('(intents," 
lloii|icr,  Miiiliini,  •_'!»!(. 
lIciIlM'  cif  .ScMll  (iiil)los,  IT'I,  174. 
Jliililiiinl,  William,  '245,  ;iti<j. 
IlMlchiiiviin,  Anne,  1 1. 
lliil.hinsoM,  W'illi.ini,  1l',  14,  IT). 
llutcliinKun,  Tlionius,  18. 

Ii'swicii,  Afnss.,  (Icscription  of,  27;t. 
Iriison,  IJcnjaiiiin,  227. 

.lAcilKs,  Kiihani.  .'iOl. 
Jusst'lyn,  .liiim,  1.58. 

KKLI.KY,  E.  (J.     yOl. 

Ki(l(l,  Captiiin  Uobert,  340. 

I.A.Mn,  Charles.  ISS. 

I.ar<'(ini,  Lucy,  242,  2(17. 

Leverett,  (JoveniiPi- .Idliii,  44!t,  450. 

Lewis.  Alonzd,  i:i2.  144. 

Lonufelldw,    U.  W.,    U)],   l.-)f).      Bee 

"(Jontenls." 
Loiii^limt;,  C.n.,  71,  25!). 
I.dw.  I'.dwanl,  213. 
Lynn,  Mass.,  description  of,  137. 

Macv,  Tiidinas,  310. 
Main,  IlaiTv,  274. 
Marble,  Hiram,  ],'!.'). 
Marhlehead,  de-eriptidn  of,  205. 
Martin,  Michael,  ll!l. 
Mason,  Captain  .John.  331. 
Mather,  Cotton,  (11,  3!I5,  417. 
Mather,  Licrease,  04,  245,  307. 
Maushope,  444.  445. 
Moody,  Kev.  .Idshua,  178. 
Mortiin,  Thonnis,  128,  ;i(l5. 
Met  ley,  ,1.  L.,  152. 
Moiilton,  .lonathan,  322. 
Mullins,  I'rjscilla,  385. 
Mullins,  William,  .385. 

Naiiant.  description  of.  148. 
Xason,  ]",lias,  371. 
Newhnry,  ]\Iass.,  284. 
Newhurvport,  description  of,  284. 
Newport  Mill,  The,  394. 
Nix's  Mate.  (ifl. 
Norman's  Woe,  2G3. 
Noyes,  Rev.  Nicholas,  174. 

Oi.dElm  of  Xewburv,  301. 
Omens,  208,  209. 

Passaconaway,  129,  359. 
Perkins,  Thoma.s  H.,  153. 


Pliilip.  Kin;;.  414,451. 
I'hips,  ,Sir  William,  170. 
I'iracy,  132,  211,  212,  2(il. 
Pitcher,  Marv,  137.     Hce  Diniond. 
Pitcher,  lldberl    144. 
Plum  l.-lanil,  2S(1. 
Plmmucr,  .lonathan,  2'l(i, 
Pollard,  Aniic,  .LSI). 
I'd(pianum.   153. 
PrcMott,  \V.  II.,  152,155. 
Prince,  Kev.  'I'liomas,  75. 

(it'AKKiiH,  40,  50,  184,  310.  .Sic  Hrews- 
ter;  Dyer;  King's  Missive;  Macv, 
etc. 

Rainsbokouoii,  Willnim,  22-27. 
Redd  (or  Itead)  Wihiiot,  210. 
Revere,  Paul,  78. 
Robinson,  William,  40,312. 
Roxbiirv  Puddin;;-stone,  111. 
Rule,  RJargarct,  ()2. 
Russell,    lienjamin,  373;     Rev.    Wil- 
liam, 4.50. 

Saint  Asi-KNycin,  3(>0. 

Salem,  description  of,  107. 

Salem  Village,  191. 

Scarlet  I,ctt<'r,  171,  172. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  453. 

Sea-ser]ient,  150. 

Sewall,  Samuel,  57,  304. 

Shattiick,  Samuel,  49,  .50,  51. 

Shawmut ;  sec  lioston. 

Shirley,  William,  73. 

SigdUi-ney,  I,.  II.;  see   "Contents." 

Skeleton  in  Armor,  397. 

Smith,  Captain  John,  153,  243. 

Soulhcy.  Robert,  455. 

Southwick,   Cassandra,    184;    Daniel, 

185  ;   .losiah,  185;    Laurence,    185; 

Provided,  185. 
Spofford,  Harriet  P.,  280. 
Stanilish,  Jlylcs.  383. 
Stevenson,  Marmaduke,  40,  312. 
Storv.  .Tdseph.  189. 
Story.  W.  W..  108. 
Surriap',  Agnes,  223. 
Swanipscott,  1(J2. 

Tavi-oi!,  Payard,  239. 
Thacher,  Anthonv.  245. 
Thacher's  Island,"  244. 
Thaxter,  Celia,  355. 
Toppan,  Rev.  Clnistopher,  308. 
Trimountain;  see  Jioston. 
Trumbull.  Henjamin,  427,  431. 
Tucke,  Rev.  J.ihn,  347. 
Tudor,  Frederick,  153. 


INDEX. 


.'.l'.'""".,l'''v.(|,,,,|...s\v'^0 

VANK,SirHo„n,  15,  18. 
vealf,  Ilioiiia.M,  l;j4. 


W'adsw 


\\"l"r<l,  Tl„„„as,(;."" 


\\ar(l,v,.||,  I._v,|i„,  ;-i,. 


Was 

Ha,s|i,M-(„i,  Kl,,,,'],-, 


i^lii.,-(„M,  (;o(,rni,,  i,7_ 


^Vf'aii^'y,  Colonel  Kchvanl,  450. 


46  J 


I"-  l-f,  18. 


•HO.     ,S'i 


\V  l.a, ton,  l.M„,,r,|,  .-ill 
^\';',"''--    •'•    <i.,    I.kS,    145,  L'i 

(    (Jlitcill,-."  ' 

^^'i"i>,  -V.  ]'.    148 
\\.'l>oii,  D.l.oral,,  5(J. 
>•  MiMc|)iirlii(,  l:.'s, 

\\'ill>loW,  .;„||||  ";.^(,_ 

\\nilliro,,.  ,i„|„|    i7_o)   .14,, 

wT-tt  ,'.''''' '.V''''^!  "'■i''^'-".-'- 

""•Mhvorili,  Saiiirirl    .-itm 


...  ■••.  ■  aininl,  .-Jro. 

"'■nhvljik,.,  (;,.,,,■,.■,, 


JVvllys,  S.-injIicl.  4->> 


,  W. 


Pnlvorsity  Press;  J^Uu^i^l^^^TS^y^iii^i.g, 


:| 

>      i 

'   1 

f       i 

if  1 

i     1 

THE  WRITINGS  OF  SAMUEL  ADAMS  DRAKE, 


i 


AROUND    THE    HUB. 

A  BOY'S  BOOK  ABOUT  BOSTON. 


Boston  i.n   i^'ji. 

"Of  the  Ijuoks  on  Ijostun,  .Mr.  Samuel  Drake's  'Around  the  Hub'  is 
much  the  best.  The  author  ha.s  written  a  boolv  about  Boston  —  Boston  in 
the  old  time  —  for  boys.  From  the  davs  when  —  as  the  second  chapter  has  it 
—  'the  I'uritans  hung  up  their  hats  '  in  the  iIkii  small  town  of  Shawmut,  down 
to  its  expansion  into  the  Boston  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  they  were  stirring 
times,  indeed.  Mr.  Dralce  tells  how  the  first  settlers  in  ]5oston  managed  to 
settle  with  their  Indian  neighbors.  He  draws  for  us  grai)hically  accurate 
pictures  of  the  old  Puritan  homes  and  customs.  Then  we  get  to  the  time 
when  the  withdrawal  of  the  King's  (.Charter  caused  the  Bostonians  to  rise  in 
arms,  and  how  sturdily  they  stuck  to  their  rights  is  told  in  a  style  that  (juite 
secures  one's  sympathies.  The  history  of  the  American  struggle  for  inde- 
jiendence  could  not  be  written  without  the  men  of  Boston  well  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  as  the  narrative  i^rogrcsses,  we  are  taken  through  the  thick  of 
the  moral  and  actual  lighting  until  the  famous  chapter  of  history  gains  a  new 
reality  from  the  vivid  .style  of  the  narrator.  Although  some  parts  of  the 
book  make  an  Englishman  wince,  it  is  just  the  sort  of  historic  story-telling 
to  do  boys  real  good.  Capital  illustrations  are  scattered  through  the  volume, 
increasing  the  realism  of  the  old-time  scenes  so  well  depicted."  —  TAe 
London  Bookseller. 


One  volume.     Square  i2mo.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.50. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers. 
by  the  Publishers, 


Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price, 


ROBERTS   liR OTHERS,  Boston. 


THE  WRITINGS  OF  SAMUEL  ADAMS  DRAKE. 


it?,  li' 


Gld  Landmarks  and  Historic  Person- 
ages of  Boston, 

One  Volume.      Square  l2mo.      100  Illustrations.      Price  S2.00. 


Old  Landmarks  ajid  Historic  Fields 
of  Middlesex, 

One  Volume.    Square  l2nio.      Fully  Illustrated.      Price  $2.00. 


"Your  Old  Landmarks  of  Boston  is  a  perfect  storehouse  of  information."  — 
Henry  W.  Longfellow. 

"  I  .im  simply  amazed  at  the  extent  and  accuracy  of  its  information." — John 
G.  Palfrey. 

"Historic  Fields  and  Mansions  of  Middlesex  is  a  book  after  my  own  heart."  — 
Benson  J.  Lossing. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers.    Mailed,  post-paid,   on    receipt  of  price, 
by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS,     BosroN. 


KE. 


^son- 


^Ids 


-John 
irt."  — 


Wice, 


TON, 


